The bathroom door opened. Greta came out in jeans and a loose white shirt, barefoot. She had little gold rings in her delicate earlobes. She was toweling her hair dry. It was wet and darker than her usual blonde. God, she was beautiful. Why wouldn’t she be? She was a fucking movie star. Apparently, they didn’t all have to wear a ton of makeup to look like God’s gifts to men. He felt a nervous flutter in his belly. How many guys had wet dreams about Gretchen Falk? And here she was walking out of his bathroom.
She stopped in mid-stride. “Oh. You’re awake.” She swallowed. She seemed nervous, too.
After a moment of silence, she nodded toward his desk. “Somebody shoved that inside the door.” A huge plate of cold cuts and the fixing for sandwiches as well as several kinds of fruit sat on a big tray. An oval ice bucket had a bottle of champagne sticking out and what looked like several bottles of beer. Bottles of Gatorade and an energy drink made Lanyon roll his eyes. Somebody with a sense of humor had added those. He was betting on Tris.
“Thoughtful, aren’t they?” he growled.
“Guess, uh, we weren’t exactly quiet last night,” she mumbled. Blondes with fair skin really could blush.
“You, uh, okay?”
“Oh, yeah. Must have been a touch of the flu or something that made me faint like that. Looks like I skated through it, though.” Her hair lay in wet strings over her shoulders. Why was that so damned attractive?
Oh, yeah. He knew why. He sighed. Better get this over with. She’d probably run screaming out the front gate and solve all his problems. Well, not really. But at least she’d have made the decision he could no longer make.
“Actually, it probably wasn’t.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, wary.
He almost lost his nerve. “The flu. You need to use the hair dryer or something?”
“Yeah…”
“Go ahead. I’ll make us some sandwiches.” They’d need some sustenance before they got into this conversation. At least he did. He got up and surveyed the tray. What did movie stars eat if anything? She was retreating to the bathroom. “Chicken?” he called.
“Roast beef. And mayo and horseradish. Feel free to load it up.”
Well, that was a surprise. She liked the same kind of sandwich he did. He’d half expected her to just tell him to put some lettuce and tomato on half a piece of bread. He busied himself putting together two of the same, while he wondered how the hell you told someone your family was magic. Worse, that that someone was magic, too. This was going to be a fucking disaster.
It took her far too little time to dry her hair. In no time, she came out with yellow, flowing hair again, looking wary. He handed her a plate with a fat sandwich on it. She took it, sat on the bed and piled in.
“Tastes great,” she mumbled with a full mouth. “Really great. What kind of cheese?”
“Looks like smoked gouda.” He sat in the chair and followed suit. She was right. Best sandwich of his life. If he told her why it tasted so damned good, she’d probably faint again. But that’s exactly what he had to do.
“You gonna open that beer?”
“You wouldn’t rather have champagne?” What kind of a movie star was she?
“Not at the moment.” She examined her sandwich as though it was a revelation.
He popped the tops off with his thumb. Had to be Jane who had assembled the tray. She was pretty thoughtful. He picked up a glass, but Greta waved him off.
“Bottle’s fine.”
“Bottle it is.” He handed it to her. They ate in silence, focusing on the enhanced sense of taste that was making itself felt for both of them.
“Whoa. I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” she said, licking two delicate fingers. Shit. Did she have to do that? His jeans were getting tight again and he had to keep it together until he could get this conversation over with.
But how did you start?
“So?” she said. “Now that you have a full stomach, you want to tell me what the hell is going on?”
Why was he losing his nerve? Because he was the baby boy of the family and he’d never had to take responsibility? That didn’t fit with his image of himself at all. He’d taken what control he could of his life. Hadn’t he?
She looked exasperated. “Don’t look confused. I’m not buying it. I know where you are. I mean, all the time. I can smell the wax on the floor. I can smell the lead all over your fingers because you’ve been using a pencil or something. And that sandwich just tasted like I’d died and gone to heaven. Not normal.” She took a breath as if for courage. “And I don’t have animal sex with men I hardly know. I…I feel like someone else. Someone I don’t even know. So what’s up? You said I was close when I guessed voodoo. Not likely, of course. But I know you know. So cough it up.”
Lan sighed and put his plate on the desk. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, clutching the cold beer bottle with both hands for support. “Well, you’re going to have to suspend disbelief for a minute here and just hear me out. No protests, no snorting beer through your nose in laughter.”
She gave him a ‘look.’
“Okay. So you don’t snort beer through your nose. But you get the idea.”
“I’m listening.” She had a look half-disapproving, half-worried on her face.
How to make this sound in any way plausible? “It’s a genetic thing. You’ve got a gene in your DNA that most people don’t have. I’ve got it, too.” That was the easy part.
“Okay. Not interrupting here. You can go on.” When he seemed to struggle, she asked, “What does the gene do?”
“It might be easier to start with where it came from. My family, and yours obviously, are descended from Merlin of Camelot.”
She stared at him.
“I know, I know. It sounds like a crock of shit.” He rushed on. “But we’ve got this stuff in our DNA that comes from an honest-to-God wizard. We’ve got magic in our genes. See, after Merlin died, his children didn’t get all of his powers. Probably sad for him if you think about it. The magic was dispersed and lost down through the ages. But the genes were still being passed. And now, in the last generations…well, we think the magic is trying to come together again. People with the gene, when they find each other, get this really undeniable attraction, you know, to mate and…and their children will have a double dose of the gene. They’ll have stronger magic.”
“Magic?” The look on her face said it all.
He took a breath. “Yeah. When you meet the one who’s, uh, meant for you, the gene is activated. You get enhanced senses and the ability to know where your chosen is—well, I shouldn’t say ‘chosen’ because we don’t really get to choose, now do we?” He couldn’t help the bitterness in his voice. “But you know where your partner is.” He felt desperation setting in. If he were her, hearing this for the first time, he’d be running for the hills. But she had to believe him or she wouldn’t be able to cope with all this, and that wouldn’t be fair. “It gives you a…a connection for life with your partner and a power.” He couldn’t call it true love, though most of his family had no compunction in calling it that. “Trying to break the bond makes you, uh, sick, for a while at least.” He lapsed into silence.
“That’s it?”
“Well, let’s get over this part before we go into anything else.” He could tell from the look on her face that she thought he was either insane or an asshole. She started chewing her lip, though. That was probably a good sign. He waited.
“So you’re saying we’re like genetically drawn to each other and we’ve got super powers?” Her eyes had narrowed.
“Uh, yeah.” There wasn’t any way around it, no matter how stupid it sounded.
“What’s your power?”
“It’s always something that reflects who you are. I, uh, got up and wrote a symphony in about four hours last night. In pencil,” he added. Maybe the fact that she smelled lead on him would make it harder for her to avoid the truth. “Stupid power,” he added, “music.” But the
memory of that music, wafting through him, made him feel…whole in some way. It drew him back to Greta. That was Greta’s music. He couldn’t tell her that, of course.
“I didn’t get a power.” She threw up her hands, got up from the bed and began striding around the room. “Geez. I can’t believe I’m even saying this. You are great at music. I already know that. You do not have a super power. Those things don’t exist.”
Here it was. “But they do. Everybody in my family has them, or did.”
She turned on him, her eyes a little wild. “God, do you think I’m actually that gullible?”
He sighed. “Why would I bring it up if I couldn’t prove it to you by just walking out and asking someone to demonstrate?” She looked wary. That was an improvement. He pushed forward. “Jane can create darkness. I mean really black, no-light-can-penetrate kind of dark. Kemble can sort of get inside computers and software and make them do anything he wants. Dev was a surfer. He has power over water. Kee is an artist. She sort of creates a new reality whenever she wants—like inhabiting a painting. I know. That one is weird.” He took a breath. As if it wasn’t all weird. “Michael can Find people and things, anywhere, anytime as long as he knows what they look like. Drew sees the future. Odd for a history major, but there you are. Tris can power machines. He draws energy from the earth. And Maggie can calm animals or people right into a stupor.”
Greta looked like she’d been turned to stone. He could see the wheels clicking behind her eyes. Somehow, he couldn’t stand the silence. “My mother used to be a Healer, but…but she lost that in the attack on my father. He…” Lanyon felt his throat constrict around the words. “He used to be an Adapter. That means he could learn to do anything really well just by reading about how to do it, or having someone tell him. Pretty annoying, actually.”
Greta’s eyes went really big. “Your mother’s a healer? Stay right where you are.” She stormed out of the room. He was so nonplussed, he just sat there. Was she leaving? Suddenly, his desire to have her make the decision to go seemed stupid. She was going out to the kitchen, then back toward the back laundry area. Was she retrieving clothes so she could pack? His shoulders sagged. He put the beer on the desk. His mouth felt like chalk.
But his stomach wasn’t rolling and protesting. He held his breath. Yeah. She was coming back into the Bay of Pigs. She was coming back.
She pushed into the room, waving a tube of something or other. She slammed the door. “I knew I knew this tube design. Even though she’s scratched through the brand name with a Sharpie. It’s hand cream. Just hand cream.” She shook the tube at him.
It was Lan’s turn to stare at her like she was crazy. “Where did you get that? And what the hell are you talking about?”
“I got it from the desk in her office. And she hasn’t lost her power,” Greta said through gritted teeth. “She told me some cock and bull story about an experimental drug. But she was lying. She was the one who healed the bruises I got in the parking lot of Diamondback that night.”
Lan grinned. His mother hadn’t lost her powers. Not entirely. “Did you feel an incredible sense of well-being when she touched you?”
“Yeah,” Greta said slowly. Her gaze jerked up to his, and she narrowed her eyes again. “And Kemble showed me a picture of the paparazzi outside my apartment from a traffic camera on the corner. Nobody has access to traffic cameras like that except if they’re in some city government department or something.”
“He does. He can hack anything and make it look easy.”
“Shit.”
“I could have Dev produce a monster wave for you if you need more proof. Drew is kinda tough. She sees the future, but her sight comes and goes and you can’t always tell what’s happening in the future until it comes true. But show Michael a picture of your mother and he can tell you where she is. Then you could call her to confirm. Or I could always have Maggie calm you down.”
That looked like it might be necessary. Greta was getting really agitated.
“I know it’s a lot to process…”
“So what’s my power?” Greta interrupted.
Lan shrugged and shook his head with a rueful smile. “No idea.” He chewed his lip. “What happened after I left last night?”
“I woke up. I stared out the window until I felt faint. Doesn’t sound like a power to me.”
“Did you…did you feel anything besides faint?” If she had a power, then using it would make her feel full and whole as his siblings had described it, and the way he’d felt last night when he was composing so furiously.
“Well, I did feel kind of…good. Big, if you know what I mean. Right. I felt right…”
“Yep. That’s it. We just have to figure out how it manifests itself.”
“Like that’s happening.” She paced to the door and then whirled around. “Let’s get back to this partnership thing.” She narrowed her lips. “You mean like we’re bonded or something?”
“Yeah. Something like that.”
“What if I don’t want to be bonded? I don’t even know you. And I don’t like feeling like I want to throw you down and rape you every time you’re anywhere near me.”
Yeah. He knew that feeling. Except he kinda liked it. Every guy wanted life-changing sex, didn’t they? Probably girls, not so much. He sighed. He shouldn’t like the fact that she desired him quite so much. It was, after all, against her will. Which meant he had to give her a choice he didn’t have. “If I go far enough away, the bond breaks. We’d both be sick for a while, but it would fade. If you send me away, I’ll go.” Oh, God. He had to let the other shoe drop, for her sake. “Thing is, you might have to let my family protect you. Leaving here might not be safe now.”
She looked stunned, outraged. “What the hell do you mean by that?”
“Well, there’s this group. They call themselves the Clan. And they’ve got the gene, too. A version, anyway. They’re descended from Morgan Le Fay. They’ve kinda got it in for us.”
“Oh, I can’t believe this. That’s why your father was attacked.” She was angry now. As well she should be. He’d been angry for over a year when he realized the full implications of the old Destiny trap.
Wait. “Who told you Senior was attacked?”
“He did.” Shit. She’d really wormed her way into the family’s good graces in a hurry if Senior had admitted he’d been attacked and his mother had healed her. She looked distracted, anger blending with anxiety now. “So you’re saying I’m in danger because I have this…this gene?”
“Yep. Not much to do about that.”
“But no one knows I have it.”
“Well, the family knows, though you don’t have to worry about any of them saying anything. But the Clan watches us. You came in the front gate. You’ve stayed for what, four days now? If they’ve seen that, they’ll think you’re…uh, bonded with one of us. Well, with me. They’d kill you just to hurt the family.” He felt bad, crushing her like this. “Look, I know how you feel. Like you didn’t ask for this. That you have no control anymore.” He chuffed a bitter laugh. “I’ve been dealing with that all my life.”
Or not dealing with it, actually. Tris had been right. He had been running away, even as he dared the Clan to kill him. Death was the ultimate retreat, wasn’t it? Even better than booze and denial. He was a little ashamed of himself at the realization.
She was trembling, angry, wanting to deny it. He sighed. “I’ll leave if you want me to. You can stay here. The family will protect you.”
“What about my career? You can’t make movies from The Breakers.” But her anger was turning to uncertainty. He wasn’t sure why. He’d sure be angry if his life’s work had just been ripped away from him. What if he had to live a life without music?
“Pretty much sucks for both of us.”
“You leave the compound,” she accused. “And they know you have the gene. Why haven’t they killed you?”
“I figure they’ll get around to it in their own good time. Maybe they’re
making my family suffer with worry.” That made him feel like shit.
“Why do you do it? If they’re just waiting to kill you, I mean?”
“I…I guess I don’t like not having any control over my life any better than you do. I’ve had longer to live with this shit. So I kinda dare them to do something. Stupid, I know.”
“Yeah, this whole thing is stupid.” She set her jaw. She was really beautiful when she was being stubborn. “It must be nonsense.”
Okay, that was kind of desperate. “Come on. I didn’t mean it isn’t true. You know it’s true. And if you don’t, I’ll start arranging demonstrations. I just mean I don’t like it.”
“So you tempt fate by flaunting yourself where these people can kill you?”
“At least it’s my choice.”
She rolled her eyes. Then her mouth made a rueful curl. “I guess I might feel the same.” She shook her head. “So I’ll have to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life, wondering if someone is out to kill me. Why are they out to kill you, by the way?”
“Well, they, uh, want to do different things with their powers then my family does.”
“And what does your family want to do?”
He blew out a breath. “Michael Finds lost children. Drew predicts disasters. Tremaine Enterprises has a disaster relief logistics unit,” he said, as though that explained everything. “It sends supplies and equipment and stuff to earthquakes and tsunamis and fires. That sort of thing. We have some companies that invest in green power: solar, wind. Tris invented an engine that runs on used oil. Won’t ever replace electric or hydrogen, but at least it recycles, and fuel costs bupkas to produce. The money from those things supports the disaster relief. Dev is working on a new desalinization process. That looks promising.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. We support the arts, and Tammy’s got about a dozen animal rescue places she makes the family fund.”
She stared at him.
“It’s not like we’re trying to save the world or anything. Nobody’s sure exactly what saving the world would look like. We do what we can, that’s all.”
The Magic's in the Music (Magic Series Book 5) Page 17