by C. J. Hill
“I wasn’t going inside,” Jamison explained. “I just thought my dad might be over here.”
The vet didn’t move. He seemed to think Jamison might force his way through the doors. “If I see your father,” the vet drawled, “I’ll tell him you’re looking for him. Try searching out on the range.”
Really helpful. As Jamison turned to go, a sound came from the building—a cow mooing, loud and frightened. In all the time Jamison had been around cattle, he had never heard one make that sound. And then another sound covered the cow’s call, cut it off. It was a piercing, animal shriek.
Jamison’s gaze swung to the door. “What was that?”
The vet pointed toward the stables. “Go. You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Something is wrong inside,” Jamison insisted. “Someone might be hurt.” He took a step toward the door.
The vet intercepted him, his hand still raised. “I told you to leave. Don’t make me ask you again.” A barely concealed threat loomed in his eyes.
Jamison took a step back in confusion. “Aren’t you going inside to see what’s wrong?”
“Yes,” the vet said. “After you leave.”
Jamison held up his hands in a sign of resignation, then turned and headed back toward the stables. As he walked, he looked over his shoulder at the vet. Instead of going inside, the man stood there watching Jamison. He wasn’t taking any chances that Jamison would change his mind and try to go inside.
Strange. And what had been shrieking? It couldn’t be a cow. They didn’t make sounds like that—loud and high-pitched. So what was inside the building?
For the first time, it occurred to Jamison that Mr. Overdrake could be hiding something in the building. It was large enough, after all, to hold a lot of things. Maybe Mr. Overdrake paid his men so well because he expected them to keep his secrets. And Jamison’s father was one of his best-paid men.
Chapter 4
Jamison spent the rest of the afternoon painting a shed. He didn’t say much to his father on the drive home after work. The words of their fight were still hanging there, echoing between them, louder than small talk. It wasn’t until dinner, when his mother asked about his day, that Jamison related the story about the strange noise he’d heard in the meat processing building. “It screeched like a living thing,” Jamison said.
Mr. Daniels’s gaze met Jamison’s, then went back to the food on his plate. “It was just machinery.”
“Machinery? It sounded like the cow was being sacrificed to pterodactyls.”
Nathan looked up, suddenly interested. “Pterodactyls? Really?”
“And,” Jamison went on, “Overdrake’s men are rude to the point of suspicion. A normal person should worry when they hear a shrieking noise coming from a building. Something was screaming, and Dad is the one who always takes the cattle inside. For all I knew he was lying in a pool of blood with an angry bovine sneering down at him. The vet didn’t care. He was only worried I might get around him and check inside the building.” Jamison eyed his father. “Is Overdrake hiding something inside there?”
Mr. Daniels shifted uncomfortably. “Of course not. The vets know what sound the machinery normally makes. That’s why he wasn’t concerned.”
Jamison poured himself a drink of water. “If that’s the sound your machinery normally makes, it’s time for a tune-up.”
Nathan leaned toward their father. “Can you take us inside the building?”
Mr. Daniels glared at him. “Absolutely not. You know the rules.”
“Just once?”
“No.”
Nathan didn’t give up. “Couldn’t you just hold the door open and let me look inside? There aren’t health rules against just looking at a place.”
“The answer,” Mr. Daniels said firmly, “is no.” His tone didn’t allow for more discussion of the matter.
Nathan didn’t look at all chastised. He was immune to their father’s sharp tones. For the rest of dinner, Nathan theorized that Overdrake was either hiding genetic experiments or zombies inside the meat processing building. Perhaps both.
After Jamison finished eating, he went to his room so he could talk to Bianca privately. She wasn’t home. Her mother didn’t offer details. He presumed she was still with Brant. “Can you have her call me when she comes in?” Jamison asked.
Nine months he’d been away, and he still hadn’t seen her.
Nathan knocked on the door and popped inside. “Still moping over Bianca?”
“You could say that.”
Nathan walked over and plopped down on the bed beside Jamison. “Doesn’t look like a lot of fun.”
“Yes, well, one day a girl you like will go out with a guy you hate and then you too will discover the secret draw of moping.”
Nathan picked up a stray sock and a wadded piece of paper. He turned the sock into a sling and flung the paper in an arc across the room. Nathan could take any two objects and make at least one of them into a weapon. “Do you suppose Overdrake is really hiding something interesting in his building?”
“Probably not.”
“Do you want to sneak out with me tonight and find out?”
“I’ve had enough of the plantation for one day. And I’ll be back there soon enough.” Tomorrow, actually. The thought made him inwardly groan. “Besides, the building is always locked.”
“Dad has the key on his key ring.” Their father always slept with his keys on his nightstand.
Jamison picked up a book from his dresser and flipped through it. “Look, as much as I dislike the Overdrakes, I don’t actually want to cost them hundreds of thousands of pounds by contaminating their building. You shouldn’t do it either.”
“I could show you my powers. It’s downright funny to see a charging bull run into an invisible wall.”
“Sorry. I make it a habit to stay as far away from charging bulls as I can get.”
Nathan rolled his eyes. “You used to be more fun.”
“No, in fact, I’ve never been more fun. I’ve always been a proverbial stick in the mud, but I’m glad you remember me fondly.”
Nathan rolled his eyes again and left the room.
Jamison decided he didn’t feel like reading. He went out onto their front lawn. It was one of the nicer houses on Saint Helena, cut into the hillside so that it gave them a sweeping view of the island. Off in the distance, the land folded and sloped as it made its way to the ocean. The sunsets were another thing he’d missed about Saint Helena. His mother said God painted the sunsets out here himself. The clouds were just turning orange when Bianca drove up to Jamison’s house.
He recognized the familiar dents of her family’s white pickup truck. She emerged from the cab with an excited smile. She wore faded jeans, a T-shirt, and a thin jacket. Her long hair was a bit windblown and whatever makeup she may have put on this morning had worn away. Somehow she couldn’t have been more beautiful. The natural look always worked for her.
Without either of them saying a word, he walked over to her. She threw her arms around him. “Jamison, you’re home!”
He embraced her, breathing in the faint scent of her perfume. He picked her up off the ground and swung her around. This felt right.
He wanted to kiss her; instead he set her down and held her at arm’s length. “You haven’t changed at all.” His gaze went to her eyes. “Or have you?”
She cocked her head. “What do you mean?”
“Did you go out with Brant today?”
Her smile slid into a pout. She looped a finger through a buttonhole on Jamison’s shirt. “Only because you canceled.”
“Yeah, I canceled because Mr. Overdrake called my father and insisted I work on the plantation today. I’m afraid he’s going to call me for overtime whenever I have plans with you.”
She looked down. He had expected her to feel indignant that Brant had ruined their outing. Instead, she was hiding her emotions from him. Whatever she felt toward Brant, it wasn’t indignation.
Jamiso
n scowled. “Tell me you don’t have feelings for him. He’s an egotistical bully.”
Bianca lifted her gaze to Jamison’s. “Brant has changed.”
Jamison scoffed.
“It’s true. He has a tender side.”
“What he has is a fat wallet.” It was low of Jamison to level this charge at her, but his anger at Brant spilled out, reached her too.
Bianca bristled. “I don’t care about his money.” She stepped away from Jamison and planted one hand on her hip. “And you can’t have a say about who I see as long as you’d rather be off at Oxford than with me.”
He held out his hands in frustration. “I need an education. You can’t blame me for that.”
She hesitated, looked miserable. “After you get your degree, you’re not coming back to the island. We both know that.”
Job prospects on the island weren’t good. Besides Overdrake’s plantation, Saint Helena’s biggest industry was fishing, followed by exporting stamps and tourism. Jamison let out a sigh. “We could live a lot of places besides Saint Helena.”
“But what if I want to live here?”
They stared at each other, trying to find an answer to this question, trying to find a way to their future. Somehow, he wasn’t sure when, they had gone from standing close together to standing several feet apart.
“You’re still planning on college,” he pointed out. “You’ve got to leave the island for that.”
“I won’t be at Oxford.”
“That doesn’t matter. It won’t be so hard to see each other once you’re in England.”
She looked at him, then out to the ocean. “By the time I make it to England, you won’t want to see me anymore.”
“That isn’t true.” He stepped toward her, erased some of the distance between them. “Brant is putting these ideas in your head, isn’t he?”
“Brant didn’t make you write me less and less.”
“I was studying for finals.” Jamison took her by the hand. “Listen, we had this same conversation when I left nine months ago. I didn’t forget you. I care about you as much as I did then.”
Bianca’s eyes softened. Her fingers wrapped around his. She wanted to believe him. “Will you always come back to me?”
“I will if you choose me instead of Brant. You have to make up your mind.” He leaned down and kissed her. After all, he hadn’t said he wouldn’t try to sway her decision. “Choose me,” he murmured.
She wound her arms around his neck, kissing him back. It felt like they’d never been apart. After a few moments she pulled away. “I missed you so much.” She let her hands slide down his chest.
It was then he noticed the bracelet on her wrist. Two silver ropes twining around each other.
Jamison took hold of her hand and examined the bracelet. It was a duplicate of Brant’s. “Did Brant give this to you?” he asked.
Bianca pulled her hand away. “It was a graduation gift.”
Jamison swore softly. “It was more than that, and you know it.”
“It was a romantic gesture,” Bianca said. “I told you Brant had a tender side.”
Anyone who grew up on Saint Helena knew the story of the island’s namesake. Helena started out as a stable maid. When she met Constantius, she and the future Roman emperor were wearing identical silver bracelets. He saw their matching bracelets as a sign that she was his soul mate, sent by God.
“Before you decide matching silver bracelets are romantic,” Jamison said dryly, “you should remember the rest of Helena’s story. After a few years and a son, Constantius divorced Helena so he could marry a woman of higher status.”
Bianca pulled her jacket sleeve over the bracelet. “Well, that’s not likely to happen to me. Brant doesn’t need a higher status.”
“Are you serious? If anyone wants to be emperor of the world, it’s Brant Overdrake.”
Bianca let out a small hmph. “You’re just criticizing him because you don’t have a romantic bone in your body.”
“I do too,” Jamison said with mock offense. “My costae verae.”
“Your costae verae?” she repeated.
“My true ribs. They help protect my heart.”
She shook her head. “Intellectuals. Only you would know the Latin term for ribs.”
He did feel bad then, unromantic. He’d gotten her a travel book of England and a large box of jams from all over the country. In his defense, most of the island’s food was shipped in. Variety was limited. Anything different felt like a treasure.
Jamison took hold of her hand again. “Is it going to be me or Brant?”
“I want it to be you,” she said. She looked down again. Her fingers intertwined with his. “You think Brant will look around for someone better, but I’m afraid you’re going to be the one who does that. You’ll meet so many girls who are smart, interesting, sophisticated—”
“And then I’ll come back home to you.” He dropped another kiss on her lips.
Later, when he looked back on everything, that night seemed to be not a promise but a eulogy. Everything about Jamison ended on that night, because it was the night Nathan died.
Chapter 5
Jamison awoke at three in the morning to the sound of his mother wailing in the driveway. He stumbled out of bed and went outside to see what was wrong. The lights were on and the front door was open. A black truck was parked in the driveway. A couple of men stood about, talking to his father. Mr. Daniels was stiff and pale, wounded looking.
Jamison’s mother leaned over the truck bed, weeping. Jamison hurried toward her, ignoring the gravel that cut into his bare feet. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?” He stopped a couple meters short of the truck. Nathan’s body lay motionless in the back. A spike of worry pierced through Jamison, holding him to the spot. His mother held Nathan’s hand, spoke words to him that never reached past her tears.
Dr. Foster, the family’s physician, stood beside her. When he saw Jamison, he said, “I’m sorry. There was nothing we could do. Nathan was dead when Mr. Overdrake found him.”
Jamison stared at Dr. Foster, refusing to process his statement. Dead?
Jamison stepped over to the truck, took in Nathan’s limp form. In the darkness, his face had a bluish tint. “What happened to him?” Jamison demanded. It seemed that it couldn’t be true and if he could disprove it, all of this would go away. Nathan would sit up. His mother would stop crying.
“Mr. Overdrake found Nathan on his property. We think it was an electrical shock because he was near an electrical fence. His heart had already been stopped for some time.”
“No,” Jamison said. This wasn’t right. Jamison had told Nathan not to go to the plantation. He took hold of his brother’s hand. It was cold. He immediately dropped it.
People always said that in a crisis, time blurred together. It didn’t for Jamison. Each moment plodded painfully by. The doctor talked with Mr. Daniels, told him that Nathan should be brought to the mortuary. Funeral arrangements needed to be made. Mr. Daniels agreed, still ashen faced, barely keeping control of his emotions. Mrs. Daniels couldn’t stop crying. She didn’t want to leave Nathan. Dr. Foster pressed a couple of pills into her hand, something to calm her and help her to sleep.
“Can we get a bottle?” Mr. Daniels asked the doctor. “She’ll need them for more than tonight.”
Dr. Foster nodded. “I’ll call the pharmacist and have him deliver a bottle to you.”
Why did everything seem to be happening in slow motion? Why did each word spoken sound like a pounding hammer?
One of Overdrake’s men drove away in the truck with Nathan’s body. Mrs. Daniels stood weeping in the driveway and nearly collapsed as she watched it go. Jamison and Mr. Daniels helped her inside the house.
Jamison felt like he should be doing something more, and yet there was nothing else to do, no way to make any of it better. This would never end, he knew. Even when the sun rose the darkness would stay wedged here in this part of the island.
Mrs. Dan
iels was nearly hysterical by this time, so Mr. Daniels made her take the pills and helped her to bed. Then he came back into the family room and poured himself a whiskey. He still hadn’t cried. His face was set in steely anger. He took his key ring out of his pocket and laid it on the coffee table. Overdrake’s men must have found it on Nathan and given it back. Mr. Daniels sat on the couch and stared at the keys while he drank.
Jamison paced around the family room while his father emptied one glass and then another. The house felt small and dark. The shadows seemed to hang lower than they normally did. A gnawing sense of guilt ate at Jamison.
It was probably dangerous to throw his guilt down while his father looked so angry, but Jamison couldn’t stop himself. “Nathan told me he wanted to go to the plantation tonight. I told him not to. If I’d gone with him like he’d wanted, if I had told you—he’d still be alive.”
If Jamison’s father heard him, he didn’t show it. He gripped his glass. “I should have quit my job and moved off the island as soon as I found out Nathan was a Slayer.” Mr. Daniels took another gulp of his drink. He swayed slightly, even though he was sitting down. “I had your tuition to pay, and I thought a couple more years on the island wouldn’t hurt. I told Nathan to stay away from the plantation. I told him it was dangerous. Why didn’t he listen?”
Jamison stopped pacing. “A Slayer? What’s that?”
Mr. Daniels lifted his gaze from his glass. Jamison could see that the alcohol had affected him, loosened his tongue. “That’s one of Mr. Overdrake’s precious secrets—his secrets that cost my son’s life.” Mr. Daniels took a shaking drink. “Do you know why Overdrake’s ancestors came to this island?” Mr. Daniels didn’t give Jamison time to answer. “They brought dragon eggs here to protect them from the knights of the Middle Ages. Dragon lord—that’s what the name Overdrake means. He keeps dragons in his building.”