by Pat Esden
Every muscle in my body tightened, and I started to rise, readying to lunge at her. Grandfather tugged me back into the settee.
“That was uncalled for, Kate,” he said. He squeezed my arm. “I understand you’re upset. You’ve been through a lot. But Kate didn’t mean anything by that. She’s just on edge. We all are.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. And I was. Not for what I’d said, but for the attitude I’d walked into the room with. He was right. I could feel it, worry permeating the air. And, as much as Kate pissed me off and Grandfather had freaked me out before, now at least his closeness was oddly comforting.
Kate blew out a noisy breath. “Shall we try this again?” She rolled her shoulders as if relieving a cramp, then went on. “We expected your father’s appointment to last longer, but the visit was cut short. I was about to come find you and let you know.” Her tone darkened. “In reality, there’s no reason for me to answer to you—”
“Maybe because he’s my father?” I snapped.
“Well, be that as it may,” she said. “You should know I would have been surprised if Chase had seen people coming and going. First thing in the morning he has barn chores, then he spends time at the house with the Professor.”
I shrugged. “Okay, so I believe you,” I said, though suspicion still bristled inside me, warning me that I wasn’t getting the whole story, just like with Chase.
I licked my lips, considering whether I should come clean myself by telling them what had happened on the beach. But I decided against it. Better to keep something to myself for now, and in doing so I would be able to keep my promise to Olya. Besides, if Dad and I were lucky, his lapse into violence was an isolated incident, brought on by the stress of visiting an unfamiliar doctor.
Something warm brushed my ankle. I looked down in time to see a calico cat, then an orange one streak away from the settee, dash under a bookcase, and out of sight.
“Stephanie,” Kate said, snapping her fingers at me. “We’re discussing something important here. Your father is a very sick man.”
Grandfather cleared his throat again and shot her a pointed look. “Don’t mind her,” he said to me, “your father’s going to be fine. But we need you to tell us everything. When did he first start acting odd? The more we know, the easier it will be to help him.”
The muscles along my spine tensed at the thought of telling them any details. I mean, yes, they were family. But if Dad hadn’t trusted them, then why should I? Still, despite my reservations, I was certain Kate wanted Dad to get better and for us to leave as much as I wanted to get away from Moonhill. Although, Grandfather did seem to genuinely care.
“All right,” I said. I closed my eyes and let my mind drift back. I told them how it had begun last winter, shortly after Dad and I came back from doing the Met antique show. That the first time I’d noticed anything was when we were going through the contents of an abandoned church. How I’d seen a shadow and turned around to see what had caused it and, when I looked back, Dad had a strange blank expression on his face.
I hesitated, giving them time to react to my mention of the shadow. But neither of them even so much as flinched. Grandfather just softly nudged my shoulder and motioned for me to go on. “What happened next?”
Closing my eyes again, I pretended I was telling myself the story, trying to make sense of it, like I’d done a million times since that day in the church.
I told them how, after that day, Dad would often stare into space or act distracted. “At one point, I even thought, I don’t know, perhaps he had a girlfriend and was afraid to tell me—or in love.” I laughed bitterly and brushed my hair back from my face, feeling their eyes on me, and feeling sure they thought I was a childish imbecile. “But when I asked him about it, he told me I was imagining things. Later, I decided maybe his forgetfulness was from a lack of sleep. He was up all hours of the night, wandering around. I gave him chamomile tea and tried to get him to take sleeping pills, but nothing worked. He kept saying he felt fine, to quit pestering him. Then it got worse. It was like flipping a light switch: One day he was a little off, but wheeling and dealing like always. The next, he lost all interest in the business. He started talking to himself and refused to answer the door. Sometimes he even forgot who I was. I didn’t want his clients to stop buying from him, so I started doing all his e-mailing and phone calls—you know, running the business. No one caught on that he wasn’t working behind the scenes. Well, until I failed to include the translation with a ring and the customer complained to Dad’s lawyer.” I bit my tongue, resisting the urge to tell them that I was fully aware that the lawyer had been spying on us.
“This ring,” Grandfather said. “It was a poison ring and the inscription was in Arabic?”
I nodded. “Gold with an onyx stone. I copied the inscription and tried looking the letters up. I think they were a form of ancient Arabic, maybe Sabaean—though they sort of resembled modern Arabic as well. Weird, actually.” I frowned. “But what does this have to do with Dad’s illness?”
“You told the woman the ring was from the eighteen-eighties?” he continued, ignoring my question.
“I, uh—” I cleared my throat, guilt twisting in my stomach. “She was in a hurry and I didn’t want to lose the sale. I kind of—I made up that part.” I gulped. Hopefully, he was done asking questions about the ring and that stupid sale.
“You do realize—if the writing was a form of Sabaean—that could date the ring all the way back to the sixth century or even before, perhaps to the time of Solomon and Sheba. Which would make it substantially valuable.”
For a blissful half second, a sense of relief swept the tension from my body. Great. It was the ring’s value and nothing else that interested them.
My guilt returned with vengeance, and I hung my head as shame for what I’d done caught in my throat.
I peeked up at Grandfather. “To be perfectly honest, I was convinced the ring was an early piece. But then”—man, this wasn’t going to be easy to admit—“I couldn’t find any record of it in Dad’s inventory and it had been stored in the safe near his personal, everyday jewelry. So I examined the ring again, really well, and I decided . . . I know it was wrong. But I was desperate. We’d gotten overdue notices for the power and car insurance. There wasn’t any money in the bank.” My voice cracked. “When Dad’s lawyer called, I was terrified. I thought the woman had figured out what I’d done and called the police. I knew the ring wasn’t Victorian. I decided it wasn’t an early piece, either. It was a reproduction, a high-quality one Dad had picked up to wear, maybe at a museum shop—or it was a gift. Dad has a friend who makes really good”—I braced myself, then said it—“forgeries.”
Grandfather slapped his knee and laughed. “I certainly wasn’t expecting that.” His face went serious. “There was no need for you to feel that desperate. You simply needed to tell the lawyer or us that something was wrong. No one would have ever let you go without or not reached out to help your father.”
I met his eyes, my anger flaring. “Why would I have done that? You’ve never once tried to see me. You never e-mailed or phoned. You never so much as sent me a birthday card.” I swallowed hard, my face going cold. That was how I felt, how I’d felt for years. But damn, I wished I hadn’t let it slip. Not only did I sound like a spoiled kid, but I shouldn’t have allowed them to see how much their lack of interest in my life had bothered me.
Grandfather shifted closer and rested his hand on my knee. My leg tensed and I longed to shove his hand away, but a part of me refused. Instead, it cherished the touch, a touch I’d hoped to feel for as long as I could remember.
His voice was soft. “Annie, believe me when I say that wasn’t our doing. That was your father’s choice. We never forgot you or didn’t care about you. We simply were respecting your father’s wishes. You are my eldest grandchild, you know?”
Kate groaned. “Oh, my God. Enough of this sentimental hogwash. Who’s kidding who? If James wasn’t such an idiot none of th
is would have happened.”
Grandfather’s hand left my knee. His voice toughened. “Don’t speak about your brother like that.”
Kate’s words made my jaw clench, but it was hard not to smile at Grandfather’s reprimand. I glanced from one to the other and back. They seemed to have forgotten about me as they glowered at each other.
Finally, Kate looked away and huffed. “It is infuriating.”
“Yes, my dear, it is,” Grandfather said. Then he turned back to me. “Whether you’re a budding criminal or you sold an incredibly valuable ring for a pittance, doesn’t matter at this point. Your uncle David will get it back. What’s important right now is that the sale led us to knowing about your father’s condition, and you’re here with us as it should be.”
I nibbled my lip as worry about how the sale could destroy my future resurfaced. Grandfather claimed he wanted to help. He had connections. It was silly to let my pride and one stupid move ruin everything. “Ah—about that sale. I was wondering if—you—”
“What is it?” Grandfather said.
“Um—Is there a way David could make sure the woman hasn’t or won’t complain to anyone else about the ring, like to the police? I kind of need a clean record when I apply for colleges and jobs.”
“I’ll have him look into it,” he said. Then he sanded his hands together, as if wiping away the last remnants of the conversation. “Now, if we’re all done, I’d like to get to the dining room, have a cup of chowder and maybe some of Laura’s macaroons.” He braced his hand on the arm of the settee and started to rise.
I jumped to my feet, took Grandfather by the elbow, and helped him up. A musty incense smell clung to his tweed jacket, reminding me of Dad’s room. My fingers recoiled from his arm.
“Thank you, child,” he said, apparently oblivious to my abrupt withdrawal. “Politeness is always a good sign.”
Kate harrumphed. “I wouldn’t call bringing half the ocean into the house polite.” She sliced a glance at my damp pants legs, then scrunched up her nose as she scanned the rest of me.
“No need to worry about me,” I said tartly. “As long as Dad is getting the proper care, I won’t be around long enough to offend you.”
Grandfather chucked. “You see, Kate, manners and spine. Very much like you.”
With a dismissive toss of her head, Kate marched toward the door. She opened it and another cat, this time a pure black one, skittered inside and streaked under the bookcase.
“They certainly are riled up,” Grandfather said as he scuffled into the hallway.
“They aren’t fond of strangers,” she answered with a snap, but her voice betrayed more worry than her words, and I was left with the distinct feeling that there was a deeper meaning behind the seemingly innocent retort.
CHAPTER 7
The darkness borrows things: black satin slippers,
a hair from the old cat’s tail. It gives things too:
dreams of soft touches, and kisses where
only a lover’s mouth should go.
—Night Magic
By Anonymous
Instead of having tea with Grandfather and Kate, I excused myself and headed for Dad’s room. Chase had probably left as soon as Olya showed up, but I still felt obliged to check in like I’d promised. It wasn’t like I could avoid the room forever.
I touched my ear and flinched. Okay, those reasons were only part of it. In truth, I couldn’t live with myself if I let fear keep me from helping Dad.
As I rounded the corner and started down Dad’s hallway, I heard a squeak. When I glanced toward the sound, I spotted a shadow vanishing into a wall.
Adrenaline shot into my veins. I might never know if Dad had really gone to the doctor’s, or if Olya had made the pentagram under my bed, or if someone was actually watching from the window. But clearly, the shadows were not just a figment of my imagination.
Determined to not make any noise, I slid out of my sandals and crept toward where the shadow had vanished. When I got there, I discovered a paneled door with a brass push-plate instead of a knob.
The door squeaked as I eased it open. I slipped inside and found myself standing on a second-story balcony overlooking an enormous library, hazily lit by a stained-glass skylight.
On either side of me and below, dark stacks held thousands of books. Ornate desks and leather chairs lurked here and there in the dim light. Nothing moved, but the prickling hairs on the back of my neck warned me I was not alone.
I pulled my flashlight out of my pocket and searched from right to left, one inch at a time, looking for anything out of place—the same way I’d use a black light to scan a piece of porcelain for repairs or embellishments. When I reached the book stack closest to me, I saw the angled jut of an elbow.
Quick as I could, I pinpointed my flashlight’s beam on the shape.
The darkness shattered into a stark image of Chase haloed by the library’s muted blue light.
“What are you doing here?” I said. I had no idea what or who I’d expected to unmask, but it hadn’t been him.
He raised his hands in surrender. “I’m not the one playing cops and robbers with the flashlight.”
“Sorry.” I clicked off the light, and his face dimmed to a less stark shade. “It’s just. I thought I saw . . .” Words failed me as I weighed whether to tell him about the shadows or not. Clearly this time, I’d been deceived by something much more ordinary—perhaps the swiftness of the door swallowing his outline combined with the angle I’d seen him from.
He came away from the book stack and moved toward me. I could smell his outdoorsy scent, bonfires and fresh-cut wood. But, despite how enticing that was, the grim twist to his mouth told me he had something disturbingly serious on his mind.
I took a step back and found myself against the balcony wall.
“I saw what your father made you do on the beach,” he said.
My heart beat so fast it made my head light. Exactly how much had he seen?
“What did you find in the water?”
With trembling fingers, I brushed the outside of my jeans pocket, feeling the lump of sea glass that I’d all but forgotten. I met his unflinching eyes. “Nothing much.”
He cocked his head. “Did it belong to your mother?”
My breathing faltered. “What do you know about her?”
“Nothing. Except those ashes aren’t her. She’s alive.”
I gasped. “What are you talking about?”
Hesitating, he frowned. “What happened to your ear?”
“It’s nothing,” I fired back. He definitely hadn’t seen everything that had happened at the beach. Desperation filled my voice. “Don’t try to change the subject. I want to know about my mother. She’s alive?”
He rubbed his collarbone as he’d done earlier. It had to be an unconscious habit of his, a tell that most likely meant he was uncomfortable. “I didn’t mean it like that. She’s alive in your memories, like my mother is to me. That’s all,” he said with almost too much force.
I folded my arms across my chest. Idiot. How could he not have realized I’d misinterpret what he meant?
As a pained look flickered across his face and vanished, the full meaning of what he’d just said struck me at a deeper level and I unfolded my arms. With his strong features and severe military haircut, he looked so tough. I’d never stopped to think his question about what had happened on the beach might stem from personal heartache. I softened my voice. “How long ago did you lose her?”
He took another step toward me, his expression now unyielding. My heart stumbled. One inch closer and the front of his shirt would press against mine. “Too long ago to waste time worrying about her. You should do the same.” He started to turn away.
“Wait!” I grabbed his arm and the secret I’d kept safely locked inside bubbled out. “Something about my mother’s death bothered Dad. I really don’t know what. I think he believes she didn’t die the way he was told.”
I’d wanted for so lo
ng to share that with someone, but now that it was out in the open, I was afraid I’d said too much, without thinking, without really knowing Chase. Maybe it would have been okay to tell him if we’d met someplace normal, like at a party or college, anyplace but here. Maybe.
I let go of him and pressed my fingers over my eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m just overwhelmed. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
His warm hands cupped mine and drew them away from my face. “You’re right, you shouldn’t have. Don’t say it again, not to me or anyone, especially your father.”
I pulled away from his grasp. It felt like he cared about me. Actually, it felt a lot hotter than that. Yet he said things that made me feel like he didn’t want me to trust him or Dad. He was willing to watch over Dad and keep him safe, but he didn’t like him. It was too confusing, too weird and wrong. “I don’t get what’s going on. But I’m not going to just ignore everything.”
“If you don’t, your life will never be the same. You’ll regret it. If you live.”
Intense cold swept my skin and seeped into my very core. I opened my mouth, but couldn’t think of a sensible thing to say.
Chase clutched me by the shoulders, his smoldering eyes locking onto mine. For a heartbeat I thought he was going to kiss me, hard and fast like in a romance novel. But instead his lips tightened and his voice deepened to a husky whisper.
“Leave Moonhill and soon,” he said. Then, he turned around and fled, his footsteps a hushed murmur as he disappeared into the shadows.
CHAPTER 8
We saw it in the time between the lightning and the thunder. And we knew beyond a doubt it was not the flag or sail of a friend or foe. It was death, her skirts spread out on the horizon, horrifying and supreme.
—Journal of Stephanie Freemont:
14th May, 1801. Indian Ocean.
In a daze, I wandered down the hallway to Dad’s door and knocked lightly. Chase telling me not to talk about Dad’s suspicions concerning Mother’s death made it pretty obvious someone was covering up something. But how could it be that dangerous—and, of anyone, why shouldn’t I mention it to Dad?