Reluctant Gods (The Awakening Book 2)

by Keri Armstrong

  “Hey, now, no sadness allowed,” Caleb said when he looked at us. “We have too much to celebrate!”

  “Yes, we do. Though I am afraid it will have to start tomorrow,” Sara said. “I am beat.”

  In spite of Sara’s pronouncement, our guests didn’t depart until nearly sunrise.

  As we waved them off, I knew I’d have to skip my morning classes if I was going to be awake enough to meet with the lawyer that afternoon.

  Four

  As it turned out, we were going to have to wait a few more days to find out what the attorney wanted. His secretary said he wouldn’t be available until Thursday, the day after our birthday. Which is how on Wednesday, I found myself standing outside Midnight Ink, the tattoo shop where Caleb worked as an apprentice to the owner, Gabriel Lara. At some point during our sleep-deprived stupor the past few days, Sara and I decided that getting tattooed for our birthday was a good idea.

  “Are you really that nervous?” Sara laughed and nodded at the death grip I had on her arm.

  I forced myself to pry my fingers loose. Just thinking about Gabriel Lara always had that effect on me. I practically hyperventilate in his actual presence and Sara knew it. He’d been my not–so-secret crush since Caleb brought me down here last fall, in an attempt to shake the funk I’d fallen into after Sara returned to Arizona.

  I took a deep breath to prepare myself for the sight that was coming. For an older guy—around twenty-eight—he was super hot. Around six foot-three inches, all lean muscle, black hair military short—which makes sense, since Caleb told me Gabriel had been in the Marines—and the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. They were deep set, and a dark, liquid brown—almost like Sara’s—and although Sara had nice long lashes, Gabriel’s put even hers to shame. Which was saying something.

  But the most striking thing about his eyes, the thing that was keeping my feet rooted to the sidewalk, is the expression when he looks at me.

  Or rather, the lack of expression.

  He’s never reacted in any way other than polite interest or natural kindness. Not pitying, not shocked, nothing. Just...normal. You can’t imagine how refreshing that is. The only people who do that are Sara, Caleb, and Al. And even they took a while before they could just take my looks for granted. Gabriel did it from the moment we met.

  Sara giggled. “Okay, I know he’s gorgeous, but pull yourself together, girl.”

  I gave her my best one-eyed glare. “And what makes you think this is about him?”

  She batted her lashes, face all innocence. “Him, who?”

  Damn. Give myself away every time.

  She laughed then became serious. “If you really don’t want to do this, we don’t have to.”

  “No, no. It was my idea anyway, wasn’t it? If anyone should be getting cold feet, it’s you. Are you sure you want to?”

  “Heck, yeah!” She grinned.

  “Really?” I was surprised. She just so did not seem the tattoo type. Then again, I’d never thought that about myself, either.

  She put her hands on her hips and frowned. “Did we not agree on all this last night?”

  “I thought that was sleep deprivation talking,” I mumbled.

  “Then what was yesterday all about?” she demanded, reminding me that we’d even gone so far as to get our legs waxed in preparation, after she’d made the arrangements with Caleb.

  “Um, youthful folly? I asked hopefully.

  “Oh, no, you’re not getting out of it that easily. I already talked to Caleb and agreed to be his guinea pig. And”, her eyes got sly, “Hottie himself will be doing yours. Happy Birthday!”

  Oh, Hell, no. I started backing up. “No way. I am not letting him see me in my underwear.”

  Biotch had the nerve to giggle. “Oh, come on now, Phoebes, you’ve got great legs. I just hope you wore the good undies and not those granny panties you drag around.”

  I groaned. I’d almost rather be in tighty-whities at the moment.

  I was wearing a thong.

  There was just no way in hell I could let that man run his hands over my legs. My face got hot just thinking about it. Worse, other places were heating up too, which was super embarrassing considering his face might have to get near there if he worked on my thigh.

  “And look on the bright side,” Sara continued, her eyes sparkling. “You’re freshly waxed.”

  I shook my head frantically, practically hyperventilating. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “Come on. If it makes you feel better, I packed a pair of shorts for you.” She grinned and wagged her large purse at me.

  “You are just plain evil.”

  She tucked her hand around my arm and pulled me toward the door. “You’ve known that all along. Don’t act surprised now.”

  I balked for another second then curiosity got the better of me. Gabriel Lara was going to be placing his hands on my upper thigh. How often does a girl get to experience a dream like that?

  I gave a dramatic sigh. “Oh, all right. Since you insist.”

  Somewhere between fifteen minutes and a lifetime later, I found myself face to face with the most gorgeous man on the planet.

  “So, what’s it going to be for you ladies today?” he asked. “Well, Sara wanted to get matching butterflies, but I’m thinking maybe I should get a hairy caterpillar instead.” I gave a weak laugh. It was all I could manage looking at that perfect face.

  He didn’t laugh. Didn’t even crack a smile. Just stared at me for a second before he took off his gloves, shaking his head.

  I heard Sara’s indrawn breath and felt sick. Damn my stupid jokes. Now he wasn’t going to do my tattoo, and whereas earlier the thought of him touching my skin made me a nervous wreck, now I was about to cry from disappointment that he wasn’t going to.

  “I was just kidding,” I said quickly.

  He looked up, his expression serious. “I know.”

  He leaned in and put his hand under my chin, titling my face to look directly at me. I felt the warmth of that hand all the way to my toes. I could barely breathe, couldn’t move. I was pierced by the intensity of his gaze, held in place as surely as a butterfly pinned to a board.

  “Phoebe, you deserve the butterfly. Do not ever think that you don’t.”

  I couldn’t respond, couldn’t breathe. My eye burned with oncoming tears and I thought I would die from embarrassment.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked.

  I barely managed a nod and he smiled. “Good. Because I’ve got something else in mind for you.”

  Shocked, I glanced over at Sara and Caleb. Both were watching with amazed expressions that mirrored what I felt. Then Caleb shrugged and gave me a crooked grin. “Hey, gotta trust the boss. He’s the best.”

  Sara smiled her encouragement. “Well, I may be a little disappointed, but I’ll trust him to do good work.”

  Caleb gave her a tiny push on the shoulder. “Hey, what am I, chopped liver? You’re getting the apprentice to the best here, babe. Be grateful.”

  “Oh, I am!” Sara hastened to assure him, her large dark eyes filled with worry.

  Caleb’s face softened, and he threw an arm over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll do right by you,” he said.

  I had no doubt he would.

  Sara danced around my bandaged leg. “I can’t believe you agreed not to look at it until it’s healed!”

  It was probably the eight hundredth time in eight hours she’d said so, but how could I explain it to her? If Gabriel asked me to walk to the moon, I’d probably die trying to find a way to do it. But all he’d requested was that I wait until the tattoo was healed before I looked at. He made Sara promise to help me take care of it and make sure I didn’t peek. She’d also promised not to tell me anything about it, but I could tell she was dying to.

  I put up a hand to stop her and did my best to sound nonchalant. “Just calm down. It’s not that big a deal. I trust him.”

  Her eyes twinkled, telling me she wasn’t f
ooled. “Oh, you do, do you? And just why is that? Because he’s pretty?”

  “Oh, shut up!” I laughed. And finally, because I am only human after all, asked, “Do you really think I’ll like it?”

  She peeked under the wrap again, frowning. “I hope so.”

  Okay, let me state for the record that Gabriel Lara could have tattooed a big ugly mess on my leg and I would love it just because he did it, but she was making me a little nervous. It must have shown on my face because she grinned.

  “Just kidding! You’re going to love it!”

  But she’d already made the mistake a lot of people make: underestimating the one-handed girl. The pillow hit her square in the face.

  Five

  Thursday afternoon found us sitting in Marcus Lange’s waiting room, which was a wishful compilation of fake marble tabletops and dark green, pleather seats. I guessed creating wills for the elderly didn’t pay as much as one might hope.

  By the time his prior appointment finally came shuffling out of his office and we were motioned in, Sara and I had read all of the out of date People magazines and a few of the AARP travel guides.

  “Well, I am sure you ladies must be wondering why you’re here?” He gave us a large, toothy grin. ‘Mac the Knife’ swam through my head.

  He opened a drawer and carefully pulled out an antique-looking metal box and gently placed it on his desk, his face suddenly avid. He pulled an envelope from his suit pocket with a bit of flourish then used it to gesture grandly toward the box. “This, ladies, is why you’re here.”

  Sara and I looked at each other, brows raised, and then back at the box. It was padlocked with a metal lock that looked newer than the rest of the box, as if it were perhaps added later.

  The attorney looked at us, as if expecting us to show some sign of recognition, and appeared disappointed by our confusion. “You don’t know what this is?” he asked.

  I looked at Sara and shrugged. “Not me. You?”

  She shook her head then turned to Mr. Lange. “I’m sorry, but I have no idea what this is. Did it belong to Gran?”

  He sat back down, the motion a bit deflated, yet his eyes remained intense. “Yes, it belonged to your grandmother. And according to instructions handed down from the last few generations of attorneys in my family, this box has been handed down to the every Vincent firstborn on their twenty-first birthday for more than the past five hundred years. And since you both qualify for first born—”

  I gasped and Sara’s eyes widened. “For how long?” she asked, her voice sounding as incredulous as I felt.

  He smirked. “Well, allegedly since the late 1500’s.”

  I frowned. “Allegedly?”

  The corners of his mouth tightened downward and a confused frown marred his brow. “Well, I must say, some of the documentation that comes with this appears authentic, at least back through the early eighteen hundreds. I have seen some of those papers myself. The rest, from before that time, are supposed to be in the box, along with instructions of what you’re to do with it.

  “You really have never heard of this?” he asked again.

  Sara just slowly shook her head, as did I. “No,” I said, my voice sounding small. I reached for Sara’s hand, and it felt icy in my own. She was trembling slightly, as was I.

  Mr. Lange’s shoulders slumped again. He picked up the envelope and held it toward us. Sara let go of my take it.

  As she pulled at the seal, he explained, “Those are keys to a safety deposit box—one for each of you. You grandmother left me instructions to give this to you on your twenty-first birthday, in the event that she passed before you reached the age. I believe the safety deposit box holds more information about whatever is in this box, and likely the key to open it.

  However, you will first have to bring ID, birth certificates, fingerprints, and blood tests to prove that you are heirs to the safe before you can open it.”

  The three of us sat silently for a moment as we tried to process what was happening. Sara and I from the shock, and I suspect Mr. Lange from the oddity of it all. He was clearly dying to know what was in the box.

  Through the swirl of confusion, one thought finally shook free. “Blood tests? How are we supposed to do that?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Apparently, there has been a long history of extensive proof required before anyone gets hold of the keys to the box, so for the past few generations, there have been records on hand to verify the heirs.” He laughed a little. “I have no idea how they proved it before fingerprints and photo ID’s.”

  Sara and I looked at each other. Her face mirroring my own consternation with a hint of wonder. After a moment, we grinned.

  “Well, Mr. Lange,” she said, “where do we sign up?”

  Six

  The fingerprinting and blood tests were fairly painless, though time-consuming. It was a couple of weeks past our birthday before we were able to finally stand side–by-side at the bank table, hearts pounding, hands shaking, before the contents of the safety deposit box would finally yield some answers. We hoped.

  I let Sara do the honor of opening it. My one hand was shaking so badly there was no way I could do it justice. Inside the small deposit box, we found two envelopes—one large, padded yellow, the other smaller and white.

  Even after all that, we waited until we were back home to open them. I could barely breathe as Sara took out the envelopes and placed them before us on the table.

  “One for each of us?” she asked.

  “Which one do you want?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’ll just take this one because it’s closest,” I said, pulling the new envelope toward me.

  “On the count of three…” she said.

  I placed my right arm over the envelope and removed the seal with my left hand, and when she reached the count of three, I pulled out several pages of a letter at the same as time Sara shook out a key and two photographs from her packet.

  She gasped. “It’s our dads!”

  I pulled the photos to me as she reached over and grabbed the letter. We scooted closer together to view them all.

  We each had tears in our eyes as we looked down at our twin fathers in their younger days. Sara opened the letter and quickly went to the final page to see the signature.

  “It’s from Gran.”

  She began to read.

  ‘My Dearest Phoebe and Sara,

  If you are reading this, it means I am not there to explain in person all that must be said. Just know that I am there in spirit, wishing with all my heart there were some other way forward than what I must do now.’

  Sara looked up, her lower lip caught between her teeth. A chill swept through me and I was suddenly afraid of what might come next. I swallowed, hard. “Go on,” I said.

  ‘I have fought so hard and so long against this, and heaven forgive me, I nearly did not leave you this as your fathers and grandfather before them had asked me. Begged me, in fact, before they all went off to die.’

  “What?!” I interrupted.

  “I don’t know! Let me read.” Sara glared at me, stress in her voice and eyes.

  ‘This box you are receiving was considered a blessing to the Vincent family, but I know it for what it is – a curse. A curse I wished to spare my sons from. A curse that steals the souls of the Vincent firstborns, leaving nothing but orphans and grieving widows behind.’

  “Wow, dramatic, much?” I mumbled, and Sara blew a little snicker through her nose, smiling for the first time since she started reading.

  “Yeah, definitely was Gran who wrote this.”

  We smiled at each other a little guiltily. Gran always was melodramatic. And for once, I was glad. Remembering it somehow took the edge of the letter.

  I grinned and gestured toward the letter for her to continue.

  ‘As impossible as it will seem to believe, the keys in the other envelope will open a box that has been in your family for hundreds, and some say, thousands of years. It contains some family secrets to w
hich I have not been privy, having only married into the family, but which you will now receive. I beg of you—do NOT go searching for the answers to the riddles in the box. They have killed every heir they have touched, including my husband, his father, and my two beautiful twin boys—your own fathers. As well as your mothers. Remember all this, girls, when you are tempted to follow them into their graves.’

  My cousin, who never curses, who berates me for every uttered ‘damn’, looked up from the letter and said, “What the fuck?”

  I was so much in agreement, I didn’t even call her on it. But there was more, so I gestured for her to keep reading.

  ‘I am sure you’re wondering why I am telling you this, why I am bothering to leave you with this unholy legacy, and in my saner moments, so do I. But every time I have resolved to not hand this box down to one more doomed generation, I am haunted by the ghosts of the Vincents. Tormented by the spirits of my husband and sons who tell me I MUST give it to you. I try to resist, my precious angels, I really do, but they are too strong. They will torment me forever if I do not pass this on to you. And if you somehow survive the curse, you will have to pass it down to whichever of you is unlucky enough to bear the first child of the next generation.

  May God have mercy on you both.’

  Sara flipped the page over, but that was the end of the letter. “What the heck was that?” She tried to laugh, but it came out short and shrill.

  “Jeebus.” I made a move to pick up the key from the older envelope, but my hand was cold and clumsy. It took me a second to pick it up. “So, do you want to open the other box now?”

  “I think I need a minute,” she said softly. She picked up one of the photographs and turned it over. Written in our grandmother’s spidery script it was Thomas and David, University of Arizona.

  “That must have been when they met our moms,” I said. Our parents had met in Tucson when our dads were in their last year of school. They had a double-wedding two years later, and three years after that, Sara and I were born.