The Artisans

by Julie Reece

  Chapter Twelve

  I’m resting on a chair Jamis refers to as a chaise, on a porch Jenny calls a veranda. She has fussed, scolded, and petted me since she learned I fell rescuing my cat from a tree.

  That was three days ago. The woman won’t let me do anything, and I’m so bored, I called Mags and Dane and asked them to come over and keep me company. I don’t have to beg hard. While I know they love me, they also love Jenny’s snacks. The three of us recline, stuffing our faces with chocolate-raspberry torte. I’ve never eaten a torte before, and I know I speak for all of us when I say we could get used to this part of captivity.

  “Fallout is in two weeks,” Maggie says. “I don’t suppose the warden will let you out of your cage to go with us?”

  While I’m not the most social of creatures, nor have I had much time, I do like to dance. Fallout is the first of three annual dances our high school throws, the others being homecoming and prom.

  “Doubtful,” I answer. “He gave me a resounding no when I asked if you could spend the night.”

  “What if we ask him?” she counters. “He can’t keep you locked up here for the entire year can he? It’s indecent.”

  Dane lights a cigarette. “Are we ever going to meet the guy?”

  “I don’t know. He said he was going out of town again.” Dane is the single most intense person I know—until I met Gideon, that is. Aggressive, opinionated, masculine the two of them in a room together could be a real dogfight. “Dane, if you do meet him, be cool, okay? For my sake … and for Ben’s.”

  He grimaces. “I won’t like it, but I will. What I’d like is to rip his head off and shove it up his ass.”

  “Dane!”

  His grin is terrifying. “Those are my thoughts. On the surface, I’m frickin’ Mother Theresa.” He takes a long drag, releasing the smoke through his nostrils like a dragon.

  “Mother Teresa. That’s exactly the image of you I carry with me,” Maggie says, her sarcasm at full throttle. “In other news, I’m not seeing Joseph Pate anymore.”

  I watch two leaves chase each other across the flagstone flooring. “I didn’t realize you were seeing Joseph Pate at all?”

  “I’m not. Well, one date. He was late, texted while I talked, and he smokes. His loss.”

  I try not to look at Dane, but I can’t help it. “I didn’t think you cared about smoking.”

  “Meh, I didn’t either. Then I decided while it looks cool, I don’t really like how it tastes. Might as well fall in love with a non-future lung cancer patient as not, right?”

  “Your logic is stunning,” I say. Maggie gives me a goofy smile. Meanwhile Dane’s crushing his cigarette butt under his boot with a vengeance. I want to strangle the pair of them. “So, who are you going to take to the dance instead?”

  “You?”

  I snort. “It’s a Sadie Hawkins dance, hon, though we would make a cute couple.”

  “Oooh, tongues will wag,” she giggles. “Okay, I forgot about the part where girls ask the guys out.” She peeks at Dane. “What about you, handsome? You want to be my date?”

  “Suu-rep.” Dane’s face turns an uncomfortable shade of purple. I’m guessing his answer is an equally unfortunate combination of ‘sure’ and ‘yep.’ “Yes. Sure, that would be good,” he stammers.

  Poor guy. If I owned a katana, I’d loan it to him so he could slit his guts and end his suffering right here and now.

  “Uh huh.” Maggie faces me and says, “Got my date, now what are you going to do?” Behind her, Dane’s wide-eyed, open-mouthed look of shocked euphoria is priceless.

  “My epic plan is to miss the dance. I’ll sew, maybe argue with Gideon a while, and if I’m really lucky, a couple dozen ghosts will meet up in my room for the Harlem Shake.”

  “I love that dance!” Maggie swivels to face Dane. “Don’t you love that dance?”

  He comes out of his stupor enough to answer quietly. “I love it.”

  Maggie pauses. Her pink lips part as if she’s going to say something, but she presses them together again.

  “I love it, too.” My grin is huge. I’m enjoying this far too much.

  “Speaking of ghosts, Rae,” Dane says, deftly changing the subject. “The claw marks on your chest, finding Edgar in the tree. I’m thinking maybe I was wrong about them. There’s definitely something sketchy going on in this house.”

  Of course something’s going on. I just don’t know what.

  “There is no such thing as ghosts,” Maggie says. “Don’t fill her head with more crap she’ll be scared of. She already believes she’s seeing things.”

  Dane shakes his head. “Think about it, a ‘ghost’ tells her that her cat is in a tree, and she finds her cat … In. A. Tree. What’s your explanation?”

  “She was sleepwalking and saw her cat run up the tree. She dreamed the rest, perfectly plausible. She dreamed she saw a horse in the hall while holding Edgar and squeezed too tight. He scratched her. Case closed.”

  It’s not a bad theory, but something in my gut doubts her.

  Dane rubs his hands together in a helpless gesture. “I don’t know … ”

  Maggie shoots him her best ‘shut up now’ look.

  The wheels in my head turn as they bicker. “We could test it,” I say. Both heads swivel my direction. “I could sneak you in. You two spend the night, and we’ll see if we can get them to show up.”

  “Brilliant,” they answer in unison.

  “What’s brilliant?”

  Gideon’s unexpected voice makes me fumble my glass of iced tea. “Uh, hey. I didn’t know … aren’t you out of town?”

  Maggie snorts. Dane shoots to his feet, and Gideon ignores my stupidity. “How are you feeling?”

  “Good. Fine.” I push to a sit. My jailor stands in all his glory wearing ripped, stonewashed jeans and a flimsy brown T-shirt. Casually leaning on his cane, when the wind blows, the fabric hugs his lean torso, revealing the long lines of his waist. He’s got an inch or two on Dane, who waits with his chest out and shoulders squared. “Mr. Maddox these are my friends Maggie and Dane.”

  “Just Gideon,” he corrects, with a smile that in no way reaches his eyes. “What’s brilliant?”

  “Right, sorry.” I say, though no one appears to listen. I don’t know why I’m being so formal. Mr. Maddox? I sound like an idiot.

  Dane’s eyes fix on our host. “Nice stick.”

  “Like it?” Too fast to track, Gideon pulls the lion’s head from the shaft, separating his cane into two pieces. Attached to the handle is a six-inch blade. “This is my favorite feature.”

  As if reading my mind, Maggie rises. She leans into Dane. Her hand comes up, knuckles resting softly against his straining pectorals. Her slightest touch works like an iron stay. “Impressive.” When she steps in front, Dane visibly relaxes, settling his chin on her head. “It’s nice to meet you, Gideon. We’ve heard a lot about you.” Her gaze cuts to mine and back. “We were discussing Fallout. It’s a dance at Sales Hollow High. I invited Rae to come with us.”

  With a swish, Gideon slides the knife inside his cane. The rubber heel pounds the floor and he rests against the lion grip once more. “I see.” His gaze roams my face before dropping further down. My cheeks heat annoyingly under his scrutiny. “Unfortunately, she’s injured, as well as busy with work for me.”

  “All the more reason for her to get out,” Maggie asserts. I’ve got to give it to my friend; she’s tenacious when she wants something. “Recharge her battery, and get her creative juices flowing, you know? The dance isn’t for two more weeks. It’ll be fun. A Sadie Hawkins dance.” Maggie hooks her arm with Dane’s. “I’ve already got my date, and Raven can tag along with us. Plenty of time to heal up, right Rae?”

  “Rae?” Gideon gives me his elusive half-smile. “Do you wish to go?” His eyes glitter with some secret amusement. A warning bell goes off in my head, and I wonder what he’s up to.

  Sore muscles aside,
I struggle to a stand. “Sure. I mean, it would be nice to get out for a while and have some time with my friends.”

  He glances at the thick silver watch on his wrist, and then to me. “It’s getting late. Let’s you and I talk about it some more later, all right?”

  Maggie takes the cue to leave. “Rest,” she orders and kisses my cheek. “I liked your other idea a lot, too.” Her tone is heavy with meaning. “We’ll talk soon. Tell Jenny thanks for the dessert.” She turns to Dane. “Ready handsome?”

  Dane stops glowering at Gideon long enough to kiss the top of my head. “If you need anything, little Rae, I’m here for you.”

  I lift my chin, searching his coffee-brown eyes. They’re severe with the worry and protectiveness I’ve come to recognize. I run my fingers down his cheek. “Thanks, bro. I’m okay.” What else can I say? We both know short of Gideon physically torturing me, I’m stuck here for Ben’s sake. Still, it feels good to know my friends care. I’m less alone.

  Gideon shifts against the doorframe. His gaze tracks Dane with an expression not unlike a powder keg waiting to explode. What the hell? Maggie smiles, waves, and tugs Dane out the door past Gideon who’s still fuming.

  He leans his cane against his leg and pulls the gold coin from his pocket, rolling it through his slender fingers and back. His expression relaxes as his eyes follow the gold piece. “While you work for me, I’m responsible for your safety, but I’m not a tyrant.” The words ‘work for me’ stick in my brain. He’s delusional. Hot but delusional. Slave is a better term. Tyrant on the other hand fits Gideon very well, I think. “I have no problem with you attending the dance,” he goes on. “There would, of course, be certain conditions.”

  “What, like a curfew?”

  “Not exactly. Your friend Dane, he’s very … loyal.”

  “Yeah. So?” My ribs and back ache. I sink onto the cushion beneath me, relieving the pressure.

  Watching Gideon juggle the coin between his fingers is mesmerizing. I want him to go, and oddly, I want him to stay. The loneliness must be getting to me. My friends just left. After seeing them every day, once a week is nothing. And poor Ben. What must he be going through? Is he hurting, making friends, does he miss me like I miss him?

  Gideon strolls the distance between us. “You care for him? Dane?”

  “Very much.”

  I assume he’s heading for the chair Maggie vacated until he sits on the end of my chaise, right smack next to me. His thigh brushes mine sending a funny quiver through me. Personal space alert! There are only a handful of people I allow breathing space within my private air bubble, and Gideon isn’t one of them. Not that he seems to care.

  His gaze drifts over my face, pausing at my mouth, rising again to my eyes. “The Fallout dance. What could be an enjoyable evening becomes a predicament for us.”

  Us? Another breeze dances across the porch, teasing the curls around his face. I sketch his profile with my eyes. Though his forehead is hidden by a curtain of blond hair, he sports a straight Greek nose. His lashes are light disappearing against hooded lids that obscure his odd eyes. There’s discoloration around his right orbital bone. I never noticed it before, but the bright sun makes the burn scars faintly visible. A strong chin ends with a curving line to his smooth throat. I imagine what it might be like to run my lips along his jaw, down the flashing pulse in his neck. Gah, snap out of it. The guy practically kidnapped you!

  “Predicament how?” I know I’m going to regret this.

  “If I let you go, you might get it in your head to say more than you should to the wrong person or attempt to run away. Your friends might decide you need saving or protection. From me. That would be disastrous for Ben.”

  Yep, I regret it. His veiled threats against Ben fuel my resentment. My palms itch to slap him silly.

  “There’s only one solution.” The sparkle is back in his eyes.

  I think he’s enjoying dragging out his answer, perhaps to punish me for asking in the first place, which means I’m officially over him and any momentary insanity his hotness caused. I push to my feet. “Don’t strain yourself, Gideon. I withdraw my request.”

  “On the contrary, Raven. You will go. And I will escort you—as your date.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  It takes exactly sixty minutes for us to get from the Maddox mansion on the Coosaw River to Belle Meade, Ben’s rehab facility in Savannah, Georgia.

  South Carolina low country is beautiful with its lime-green marshlands, gray water, and spooky oaks, jutting out with knotty fingers toward a pale blue sky. I try to lose myself in the haunting landscape, but my nerves twitch with adrenaline. After weeks of waiting, I will see Ben today.

  If I’m truthful, that’s not the only thing affecting my pulse. I’m still unsure whether I’ve seen ghosts, but since I did, in fact, find my cat up a tree as Cole predicted, the mother of all tumors theory has lost some steam. While I spent half the night hatching a plot to get my friends in the house for my ‘are they real’ poltergeist experiment, the other half was spent thinking of Gideon. The suggestion of his taking me to a high school dance is outrageous. Really? What hardcore drugs do you have to be on to propose such a thing to the girl you’re blackmailing? The girl whose stepfather you’re … helping? No, no, threatening. Gideon couldn’t care less about Ben’s health. He’s leverage, pure and simple, and I’m a hostage.

  Surprisingly, when I called Maggie, she didn’t see the big deal. I might have screamed, except I’d been waiting a whole hour for Jenny to leave the kitchen so I could use the phone in private. The last thing I needed was to draw more attention to our conversation, so I stage-whispered into the phone telling her what she could do with her opinion. Maggie said I could ignore Gideon once we got to the dance (Erm, sorry, but no one ignores a guy like Gideon). She said I’d be with them all night so who cares if Maddox tags along, and the lowest blow? She mentioned how incredibly edible my scuzzball of an extortionist is, and how great we would look in the clothes she wanted me to sew everyone for the dance, including my extortionist.

  Shallow much?

  Then she pointed out how my room is cooler than something Duchess Kate sleeps in. How Jenny is practically my private cook, maid, and caregiver, and how, so far, Ben is getting the help he needs, which is what I always wanted. It’s like she sees this as some sort of reality game show instead of my real, jacked-up life. I flip her off in my mind, and then send her a mental hug. Because she’s not all wrong, is she? Maybe I should go. Goodness knows I could use a distraction, but attending a dance with Gideon has an icky-squick factor of ten, like sleeping, or in this case dancing, with the enemy.

  I sigh and squirm in my seat. My gaze meets Jamis’ in the rearview mirror. What does he think of his boss, I wonder. He’s not one to show his hand. The guy is old-school loyal. Even if he thought Gideon was a spoiled brat or worse, these old-fashioned servants have a code, don’t they? Don’t ask, don’t tell or something. Maybe I’ve seen too many episodes of Masterpiece Theatre at school.

  We pull into the parking lot in front of a cream stucco building complete with a red Spanish tile roof. The structure is surrounded by acres of green lawn and several matching buildings that resemble three story hotels. The joint looks more like a golf resort than any rehab facility I’ve ever heard of.

  “Jamis?” I ask. “Are you sure we’re in the right place?”

  “Quite sure, miss. You may ask for your stepfather at the front desk. You are expected. I’ll wait for you in the car until your appointment is finished.”

  “Okay.” My voice sounds thin, even to me. I was nervous, but now I’m terrified. All of this is really happening. I should be used to difficult situations by now. But no, this time it’s different. This is the first and maybe only chance Ben will have to get sober. We could never have afforded a place this nice with its top notch staff and resources, but will he take advantage?

  “Jamis?”

  “Yes, miss?”

&
nbsp; “Uh. Never mind.” I don’t know what I thought I’d ask him. To walk in with me, hold my hand. Read me a story. Grow up, Rae. “I’ll see you in a little while.”

  “Very good, miss.”

  I scoot out of the car, walk up the steps, and push through one of the double front doors. Thick glass makes them heavy. I’m sore from my fall, but I manage. If wild horses and some bruising couldn’t keep me from seeing Ben today, neither will this dang door.

  The lobby is tastefully decorated in rattan furniture. I could do without the tropical tone of prints and colors, but maybe their patients do better pretending they’re on vacation—for a minute, that is—until reality hits. I’ve thought a hundred times about how hard it must be for Ben here. I know they have drugs to help ease patients off the physical side effects, but that’s just the start. The mental, memory addiction sounds worse, harder to overcome.

  “May I help you?” The woman behind the counter even looks like a hotel clerk with her gray suit, tight brown bun, and pleasant smile.

  “Raven Weathersby to see Benjamin Weathersby, please.”

  She checks the paperwork on her desk. “Welcome to Belle Meade.” Her smile widens as she points with her pen. “You will conduct your visit in the Palm Room today. Through that hallway, first door on your left.”

  I frown. She’s nice but sterile, mechanical. Whatever it takes, I remind myself. They’re the professionals. “Thanks.” I make my way down the hall and find my way to the Palm Room, so named I assume, from the frothy potted plants clustered in every corner. It’s like Hawaii in here.

  From the doorway, I see someone sitting in a wingback chair, facing the opposite direction. “Ben?” His khaki-colored pant leg sticks out. An elbow clad in starched blue cotton hangs over the armrest. He stands. Turns. “Ben!”