He tugged her down onto his lap. “Would you feel better if you had a good cry?”
“No.” It was a very wobbly no.
“What if I cried and you comforted me?” He rubbed his cheek against hers. “It was terrifying out there.”
She curled her fingers into his flannel shirt. “I can’t believe you jumped into the ocean with your hands and feet tied.”
“It seemed like a better option than staying with Roy and Janelle.”
She shuddered.
He kissed her.
All their terror and relief, their tiredness and their need to be sure each other was there, safe, transmuted into greedy kisses. Naomi’s arms still hurt, her ribs and knees were sore from a fall on their climb up to the lighthouse, but she craved Corey. The heat of his mouth was real. His hands cupping her breasts were clumsy through the thickness of her borrowed sweater.
She grabbed one of his wrists to redirect him under the sweater and her t-shirt, and gasped at the roughness of the bandage on his wrist. She broke their kiss. “I forgot.” His wrists were raw from fighting the rope that had bound them.
“It’s okay.” He moved her up the bed, nudging her down, settling over her.
His weight, pinning her to the firm mattress, shoved her worries out of her head. All that mattered was the thrill of feeling him—and he’d gotten a hand under the sweater and her t-shirt to her braless breasts.
“Corey.” She turned her head, chasing his mouth that was exploring her jawline as his thumb rode over her left nipple, again and again, with enough pressure that her hips thrust up against his, her arousal building.
Their tongues tangled and she sucked his.
His green eyes blazed with passion. One hand braced him over her. His other hand, he moved from her breast, down her body, to hook her thigh up.
His skin was heated beneath the soft flannel of his shirt.
A gong sounded in the distance.
Corey paused, his hand halfway back to her breast. He rested it against her waist. “Dinner gong.”
“Pardon?”
He gave a half-laugh, half-groan. “It’s a gong on the inside veranda just outside the kitchen. It means Uncle Otis is calling us.”
“Oh.” She stared at him. They were so close.
“Better than him walking in on us.”
She wriggled convulsively. “The door’s open!”
“I didn’t plan to seduce you—or be seduced.”
She kept wriggling. He groaned and rolled onto his back. She scrambled up and off the bed, then yelped when she saw her reflection in the mirror. Her drying hair showed clearly what they’d been doing. Bed hair, indeed!
“Comb’s on the dresser.”
She snatched up his comb and wrenched it through her hair, ignoring the pain of tangles and the tired soreness of her arms. She raised an eyebrow as he smiled.
He swung up off the bed and wrapped his arms around her from behind. “I’m thinking how lucky I am. You’re beautiful, brave and sexy.”
Their reflection in the mirror above the dresser made her smile as much as his words. She liked seeing them together, her wrapped up in him. She put her hand over his arms at her waist.
“Corey!” Otis’s shout floated up.
“Out of time,” Corey muttered, kissed her quickly and tossed the comb onto the dresser. They descended the wide front stairs together and followed their noses to the kitchen.
“Grilled cheese sandwiches.” Naomi forgot her slight self-consciousness at the appetizing aroma. Her stomach growled.
Corey laughed.
Otis ladled tomato soup into bowls.
Cait ferried them to the table. “I phoned Vanessa.” She glanced at Corey. “Our Minerva School contact. Vanessa Araya coordinates requests to the Old School network, and beyond—” She broke off. “Our report of Roy and Janelle’s activities as fantastical creature hunters will be prioritized if Vanessa delivers it. She is contacting the government agency that responds to magical terrorism, both domestic and abroad.”
Cait picked up plates of grilled cheese sandwiches and brought them to the table. Like the other three, she looked tired, but some spark had reignited in her. She had purpose again, not the weird lost aura that had surrounded her on arriving on the island. This was the Cait Naomi remembered from childhood, her grandmother’s indomitable friend. Grief had stolen her for a while.
Remembering her own panic and terror at the threat of losing Corey, Naomi understood. Cait’s husband had died peacefully in his sleep at the age of eighty one, but none of the circumstances made losing him easy.
“My kidnapping wasn’t terrorism,” Corey objected.
Cait sat down at the table opposite him. She brushed wisps of silvery hair out of her eyes. “How do you know? You’re so accustomed to Poppy that you overlook her power. As a baku, she repels evil. It makes her a powerful guard. Even less pleasantly, there are wizards who would sell their souls—shriveled though they are—to study and dissect a baku and its power so as to reverse-engineer it. They would use their study of Poppy to attract and, possibly, strengthen evil.”
“To design a magical terrorist weapon,” Corey said bleakly.
They all looked at Poppy who lay on a big dog bed in the corner of the room. Cliff the behemi was deeply asleep beside her. The poor little flying pig was exhausted after circling Corey over the rough seas, then battling the storm to reach the island and home. But Poppy was awake. Bright, light brown eyes observed them all. She didn’t move.
It was appalling to imagine her broken and transformed into a weapon, but terrorists did exactly that with hostages whom they turned into suicide bombers.
Corey broke the silence as he refilled their coffee mugs. As tired as they were, none of them would sleep till they’d debriefed. They all had too many questions. And it was his story that started everything. “I woke early this morning. Just before dawn. I had some ideas for how to modify the mothman kite. Woefully inadequate ideas, now that we know the extent of Roy and Janelle’s villainy. But I thought we could lure them to a less public location upcountry and scare them off the island.”
He grimaced at his naivety. “We seriously underestimated them. I was walking to my workshop with Cliff trotting beside me. The air had an ominous vibe. I thought it was my mood, but it was probably the storm. As I went to unlock the door, Roy stepped around the corner of the workshop and hit me. He must have scooped up Cliff at the same time because when I came around I was in the hold of a boat—Monk’s boat, the Second Chance. Roy was proud of how they got it off Monk, who is—or was—a murdered drug lord’s right hand man.” He swallowed some coffee and got back on track. “And Cliff was in a cage near me.”
Naomi curled her hands around her coffee mug, feeling cold again. “When you dived into the water, you were bound hand and feet.”
“Roy didn’t leave a knife conveniently in the hold. They weren’t obliging kidnappers.” Corey paused. “Too soon to joke?”
“Much too soon,” Otis grumbled.
Corey leaned back and put an arm on the back of Naomi’s chair. “I didn’t have a knife, but—”
Otis stood, his chair scraping on the floorboards. “More comfortable in the parlor.” And to Naomi. “Leave the dishes, girl. You look like death walking.”
He didn’t look much better.
Cait shook her head slightly, her gaze meeting Naomi’s with a message that she’d handle the dishes later.
In the shuffling adjournment to the parlor, Cliff stayed asleep in the corner of the kitchen, but Poppy accompanied them and lay by the fire. The storm was easing, the wind and the rain quieter, but the fire made everything cozy and warm.
A piano stood in one corner of the room. A modern sound system in another. Bookcases and cabinets were filled to overflowing with books and precious objects displayed casually. It was a family room, one created from years of people who were interested in the world congregating in it.
Naomi sat on the chesterfield and curled her t
oes under her. Corey sat close. She snuggled into him.
He continued his story. “After Janelle’s ransom call to you, she went on deck and Roy stayed in the hold rearranging and securing the cages and crates to ride out the storm.” His voice deepened. “He had a tank of sea serpents, cages of jackalopes and ourobui. I smelled dirt, so I think the metz were in other crates. Some cages I could see what was in them. While the hatch was open and Roy worked, I studied the layout and prayed he wouldn’t knock me out again. He didn’t. He mustn’t have wanted to handle my dea—unconscious weight, again.”
Naomi shivered.
He hurried on. “When Roy climbed the ladder and closed the hatch behind him, the hold was dark again. But I’d watched how he’d packed the crates tight near the hatch, leaving a walkway in front of the ladder. And after sealing two of the crates, he left three and a half rolls of duct tape on a hook by the ladder.” Corey grinned.
Otis slapped his knee.
Naomi and Cait exchanged baffled glances, unsure why the men were amused.
“I have a motto.” Corey squeezed Naomi’s shoulders. “Give a man duct tape and he’ll rule the world—or at least, keep it running.”
“You used the duct tape to get out of the hold?”
Despite his determined attempt at humor, the strain of what he’d attempted sounded in his voice and showed in his eyes. His duct tape escape had been a perilous, low-chance-of-success attempt.
“With my feet bound and my hands tied behind my back, I couldn’t climb the ladder. But I could feel the growing strength of the storm and I didn’t like my chances with Janelle and Roy. The ocean hides many secrets.”
They all knew what he meant. For Janelle and Roy the easiest ending to kidnapping Corey was to toss him overboard, not near the island, but out at sea where his body wouldn’t ever be found.
“I used the duct tape to create a webbed platform beneath the hatch, anchoring it to the crates and cages. Luckily for me, they had wide enough handles and bars.” By the state of his knuckles, the gaps had been barely wide enough. It had to have been hellishly awkward with his hands tied behind his back to maneuver the duct tape. Almost impossible. “I did this three times, going higher and higher, heaving myself to the next level, never sure it would hold me or if the crates would topple. I opened Cliff’s cage before I started so that if I got the hatch open, he could be free.”
A grim, pained expression cut grooves in his face. He rubbed his left hand over his right fist. “If I couldn’t get the hatch open, I had half a roll of duct tape left. I was going to seal the hatch to give me time to climb back down and saw at the ropes around my wrist on the sharpish edge of a crate.” It had been a desperate, despairing plan. “But the hatch opened. Cliff flew out and I managed to push off my last webbed platform of duct tape and worm my way out on my belly. Then I jumped my way to the railing, not so easy the way the ship was rolling, and dived. Naomi saved me.” He squeezed her.
“And Cait,” she said. “That was Cait’s water talent that lifted you into the boat. Thank you, Cait, so much.”
“You’ve already thanked me. Too often.” At the lighthouse, on the way to the medical center, waiting in the medical center.
“Then your talent calmed the way and guided us through the shoals to the lighthouse. We wouldn’t have made it back to the harbor,” Corey said. “I owe you, Cait.”
“No, you don’t,” she said brusquely. “Naomi’s plan was simple and we all played our part.
Morosely, Otis interjected, “I didn’t.”
“Not for want of trying.” Cait reached across from her armchair to squeeze his hand. “We asked the impossible of you.” And to Corey. “We asked your uncle to channel paranormal energy into Iovanius so that the ghost woke—materialized—and could help us against Roy and Janelle.”
Otis slumped back grumpily. “When it didn’t work, Naomi was left to face those two alone. She had to bluff about having Poppy with her.”
Poppy got up from her snug spot by the fire and resettled by Otis’s feet in a silent display of support.
The old man leaned down and scratched her head.
“It was a mad plan,” Naomi agreed. “It was unfair of me to ask of you what I did, Otis. But thanks to Corey’s own determination, he’s safe. Poppy’s safe. We’re all home.”
“And that precious pair, Janelle and Roy, escaped,” Otis grumbled, but his expression lightened.
Naomi snuggled into Corey and whispered. “I’ll explain more, later.” When Otis couldn’t hear and be upset.
“Okay,” he said in soft-voiced agreement. Then, louder. “Janelle and Roy are a problem for another day. At least we have the name of their buyer, the trader in fantastical creatures, Svenson.”
“I do like an optimist.” Cait smiled her approval. Or perhaps she’d caught the younger couple’s whispered words and agreed that Otis didn’t need to rehash the day’s events any longer. “Now, early though it is, I think we all need to sleep.”
Naomi agreed, one hundred percent. She stood with a barely stifled groan. Climbing the stairs was easier than climbing the slippery rocks to the lighthouse, but she seemed to be moving slower and slower. When she finally crashed into bed, her whole body sighed with relief.
“Move over.” The mattress sagged as Corey climbed in.
She opened one eye. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m too tired to carry you romantically to my bed.” He yawned. “Sorry. I didn’t want to sleep alone.”
The terror of the day could well translate into nightmares. Naomi completely forgot that Poppy’s presence in the house kept them away. A baku’s power to chase away nightmares was at the heart of their legendary status. It didn’t matter. The truth was simple. Her soul smiled to have Corey in bed with her, his arm heavy at her waist. “No funny business,” she said sleepily. “Cait’s next door.”
His laughter faded into a near-snore. “I like that you think I could.”
They were both exhausted.
Two minutes later, they slept.
Meanwhile, at the northern end of the island, a stolen boat wrecked on the rocky coastline. Ironically, it was on a beach where the sea serpents’ nesting pools had been raided and left empty.
Chapter 9
“Corey, wake up.”
Corey hunched a shoulder and cuddled closer to the warm, soft woman in bed with him.
“Wake up! This is urgent.”
Naomi grumbled something into her pillow.
He opened his eyes unwillingly to see his great-uncle standing in the doorway. “Don’t you knock?”
For some reason his question woke Naomi where Otis’s demands for attention failed. She squeaked, sat up, squeaked again, and lay down, pulling the covers over her head.
When he laughed, she poked him in the ribs.
“You’re fully clothed,” he reminded her. They both were. Well, he had boxers on. Good enough.
“I did knock, and I don’t care about the state of your clothes,” Otis boomed. “And if you think I disapprove that you’re in bed with the boy you evidently care enough about to risk your life for, you must be crazy.”
“Maybe,” she muttered under the covers. “Or I’m getting there.”
Corey decided he ought to get his great-uncle out of the room. Reluctantly, he slid out of bed. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s a report of a boat wrecked on Strange Beach,” Otis said. “The Second Chance has run onto the rocks.”
Naomi sat up. “Janelle and Roy are on the island?”
Otis shrugged. “The way I heard it over the radio, the men who found the wreck thought it looked like a deliberate beaching. Of course, they thought the one who did it was Monk.” The owner of the Second Chance, the man Janelle and Roy had sold to a drug lord. “So that’s who they’re looking for.”
Corey glanced out the window. The storm had blown itself out in the night. Patches of blue showed in the sky. People would be cleaning up after the storm. Others would form a sear
ch team to look for Monk.
“I’ll see you downstairs.” Otis left.
Naomi scrambled out of bed in her t-shirt and leggings. “Janelle is obsessed with capturing a baku. She must have convinced Roy not to leave without Poppy.”
“Or he realized they couldn’t survive the storm and beached the boat. It’s not his, so he wouldn’t have any compunction about wrecking it.” He yawned and stretched, feeling a stiff soreness in the muscles he’d strained yesterday
She upended the overnight bag she’d brought with her to Bunyip House. Nothing fell out. “I need clean clothes from the boarding house.”
“Don’t go alone,” he said sharply as the reason for Otis’s intrusion belatedly penetrated his sleep-addled brain. Roy and Janelle were on the island and, it had to be assumed, were hunting Poppy. None of them were safe.
“I won’t.” She sat back down on the bed, reaching for the borrowed sweater she’d dropped onto the chair beside it.
His skin was goosepimpling in the cold. “I need to dress.”
He needed to come to terms with the fact that none of them were safe. Bunyip House hadn’t been designed to repel attack. He departed abruptly, defensive ideas turning over in his mind.
Naomi stared at the door after Corey’s exit. She heard voices in the corridor, with murmured “good mornings” exchanged.
“Clothes.” Cait stepped into view. She held a neatly stacked pile of clothes; the ones Naomi had abandoned on the bathroom floor.
Naomi hurried to take them from her. “I’d say, you shouldn’t have washed them, except I’m glad you did! Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Cait paused, then shook her head. “I’ll tell you about Vanessa’s phone call over breakfast.”
“Van called?”
“Two hours ago.” Cait walked out.
Naomi glanced at her watch. Ten minutes till nine. Vanessa must have waited for the barely decent hour of seven o’clock to contact Cait. That meant the matter was serious, though not yet urgent.
What on earth could Vanessa want? Yesterday, Cait had asked Vanessa to pass on Janelle and Roy’s details to the appropriate government agency, one capable of dealing with magic, just in case the two hunters had other magical tricks beside the silver hobbles. Had Vanessa learned something more about either Janelle or Roy?
Fantastical Island (Old School Book 2) Page 13