Mr. Lawson patted my hand. “I thought not. I took the liberty of contacting a friend to look into it. He has some skill in this area.” When I tried to protest, he patted my hand. “It was quite presumptuous of me, I know. But since your father has passed on, I feel he would want me to aid you where I can. Please don’t be cross with me, my dear.”
His unrepentant meddling had me smiling at him even though I hated the fact that I was in a position to need his help. “I see now why your son and daughter struggle to keep up with you. No wonder they call you Papa Pug—you really are the pugnacious patriarch.”
“Humph. Papa Pug, indeed.” He tutted. “Those children of mine have no respect. Their stunts of late have taken on a new level of stupidity. I tell you, they are trying to kill me so they can spend our family fortune on drugs and plastic surgery!” He rapped his cane on the floor. “What does a person need with a fake rear end, I ask you? It’s bloody madness. My several times great-grandfather founded this town. As the youngest son of a duke, he was not expected to make much of himself. Yet he came to America and started his merchant business while his older brother sat on his pampered arse. He should have retired to the country when he made his fortune, as was expected, but he was a hardworking man. He taught his sons, just as they taught their sons. Generations of Lawsons have been shipbuilders.”
I sipped at my tea again to hide my smile at this much-repeated rant.
His wrinkled lips puckered like he tasted something vile. “What do my children want to do? Get a tan and gamble. Bless my dearly departed wife, but she spoiled those two shamelessly. I blame myself. I worked day and night to build an empire. I should have worked on building my family—” He stopped abruptly and sighed. “Ah, love, I’ve gone off again. Forgive me. We were talking about you.”
“I know you’re worried about your kids and what will happen to the family business. It will work itself out, you won’t allow anything else.” I gave him a smile and set my tea on the coffee table. “You know, I never would have thought of having someone look into the rumors. I’m not used to leaning on anyone. Thank you.”
“I’m sure we will soon get to the bottom of it. As for Natalie and Brice, shall I use my considerable influence to have them disappear to some third world country?” A mischievous glint entered his faded gray eyes. “I hear that the diamond mines are always in need of help. I’m sure backbreaking labor, and deplorable living conditions would cure most of their unfortunate dispositions.”
The mental picture of them slaving away in a hole in the ground was the stuff of dreams. No doubt Natalie would sleep her way out of the situation and come back to wreak even more havoc on my life. “As much as I love the image, I think I’ll have to pass. They’re a couple of spoiled brats who used this opportunity to try to hurt me, though god only knows why.”
“I grant you that Brice is not terribly bright and will soon trip over that ego of his. Your former assistant may be another story. She is young, but even the smallest viper is full of enough venom to do harm,” Mr. Lawson cautioned. “I had the dubious pleasure of her acquaintance when you were away this last time for that art exhibit. I doubt sugar would melt on her honeyed tongue, but it’s the eyes that are the windows to the soul, you know. You need only look closer to see she is full of rot and envy.
“Be careful, my dear, that you do not underestimate her or whomever has spread these rumors. It wasn’t from Myrtle’s that I heard the rumors directly myself, but from more than one of my colleagues while in Seattle last week.” He rapped his cane on the floor once more, making me jump. “For the rumors to be making the rounds in my circles means that someone has some very influential connections.”
A chill chased across my skin and my stomach dropped. Who would target me? I was nobody, and I’d made sure to keep it that way. Cracks split the pavement of my lonely highway, and a cacophony of screams rang out. Memories bombarded me. I saw my father swallowed by waves of water. Then I was shivering in a dark alley, my empty belly cramping with hunger and the stench of my unwashed body assailing my nose. Then I was in a squatter’s camp in an abandoned building, the lifeless eyes of a man staring up in accusation at me from the trash-strewn floor.
I shuddered as my past tried to drag me down into the dark abyss buried beneath my lonely highway. The anger and fear these rumors had caused were far too familiar. What was I going to do?
5
The rest of the week dragged. I spent my time cataloging inventory and cleaning every inch of Whimsy. As Mr. Lawson had said, the rumors had spread well beyond our town and had taken on a new twist. A couple of the artists I worked with had called yelling that they weren’t giving me money, and if I kept harassing them, they were calling the cops. I had no clue what they were talking about, but no one believed me. Unfortunately, Mr. Lawson’s friend had not been able to find the source of the rumors. In the meantime, my business was still suffering and so was I.
I hadn’t had any referrals in weeks from other galleries. When I called to talk to the gallery owners, they accused me of tacking on miscellaneous fees for purchases. Then there had been the disgusting pictures that had appeared on the gallery website and I’d finally had to take the whole site down. A police car parked in front of the gallery more than once, the officers watching but never approaching me. I’d had to cancel exhibitions and nearly every local artist had pulled their inventory from my store. I was stressed to the breaking point and my nerves were a mess. My world was spiraling out of control, again.
I’d done what I could to salvage the artists’ careers, but there was no one to help me. I didn’t want Dia tied to this in any way but the guilt of cutting her out of my life again was taking its toll as well. The asphalt on my highway was worn thin by the constant stress, anger, and helplessness. The doubts and fears of my past seeped through to taunt me. Every day I was closer to a precipice that would send me tumbling into the dark waters of my past to drown me.
I hated this. Hated it! There was no end and no solution in sight.
Desperation was creeping in. My sanity and my sanctuary were in jeopardy. The few sales from tourists and the morbidly curious weren’t enough to keep paying the bills for the gallery. There was enough put aside to weather the storm for a bit longer, but that was money that should have gone toward art investments. I’d planned to make an offer on work from an artist a few towns over, but now that wasn’t possible. My studio expansion was a long-lost dream. Every penny was going toward keeping the business afloat.
With nothing but time on my hands, endless questions for which I had no answers plagued me. Who was behind the rumors? What did they gain by ruining my reputation and damaging my business? How much longer could I go on like this? I had lost weight and it was getting harder to force myself to keep going through the motions every day.
The gallery was no longer my safety blanket blocking out the past. Yesterday I had tried to find some peace by creating my own artwork. It had been so long since I had tried that the tools felt foreign in my hands. My father’s patient voice had filled my head. “Steady. Steady. It’s like building my ships. It takes a caring hand to bend it to your will with enough force but not too much to break it. That’s it, little star.”
The glass shattered. Rage had surged up and taken over, and the next thing I knew the punty rod I used for shaping was sticking out of the wall across the room. I hadn’t lost time like that since the day I stood over that dead body in an abandoned building, its sightless eyes accusing me of something I couldn’t remember. My lonely highway had been born in a moment of desperation soon after that when I sat at a fork in the road choosing between life or death. Every mile of asphalt I had laid had taken me farther from that place. Quiet and routine had become my tools to keep that highway maintained. My blackout that day in the studio had shaken me so bad that I hadn’t set foot in there since.
The pavement was weakening, and I wasn’t sure if I would survive its collapse.
The phone rang on the counter in front of
me, startling me so much that I sent the jewelry I had been sorting scattering all over the floor. Huh, why hadn’t I thought of that? It would take at least a half hour to clean that up. If I did it slowly. One piece at a time. Maybe I could “accidentally” drop a few more things.
“Whimsy Fine Arts, this is Lia. How may I help you?” I asked, trying to instill some cheer into my tone while mentally crossing my fingers that this was a client wanting to purchase something.
“Jillian, this is Brice. I’m glad I caught you. I wasn’t sure if your little shop was still open,” he said in that nasal little rat voice of his. Come to think of it, his resemblance to a rat was uncanny. That slicked back hair. Those beady little eyes. The big ears.
Dirty. Lying. Rat.
It took all of my effort not to slam the phone down. Repeatedly. The silence stretched on for a couple of awkward moments while I struggled to say something that didn’t start with an F and end with a you. All that came out was a garbled growl.
“Jillian? Hello? Are you there? You should have your phone checked. There’s something wrong with the line.”
Yeah, and my fist could set your nose back to pre-surgery ugly.
Ok, not helping. You can’t go around punching the man because he’s an ass. I could imagine it, though. Not quite as satisfying, but hitting people, even when they deserved it, wouldn’t solve anything. Maybe picturing him as a rat would help. Wait, what was lower than a rat? A flea. He was the flea on the rat’s ass. That’s what I would picture when dealing with him from now on.
Deep breath. You can do this.
“Mr. Kingston. What can I do for you?”
“Well, I would normally do this kind of thing in person, but I have to pick Maggie up in a few minutes for our dinner in Seattle. I think you’re familiar with the new restaurant that just opened? Maggie is so excited to meet the chef. We’ll be attending the new art exhibition opening tonight as well.” His voice turned even more nasal sounding as he gave me his fake version of empathy. “Oh, that’s right, you know the artist. She was one of your clients, right?”
He knew that I knew her—he only wanted to twist the knife in my back.
Don’t kill him. Remember that conversation you had with Dia about not wanting to service females. Prison isn’t for you. “Yes, the exhibition was one I had planned to organize myself, but it didn’t work out. Fortunately, the artist was able to find another gallery.”
“Oh well, you won’t have to worry about those kinds of things when Whimsy closes. That’s what I was calling about. The bank has reviewed your loan and decided to call it due in full. You’ll be getting the letter in the mail with the payoff balance that will fall due in two months. It’s a generous time frame; think of it as a gift between friends,” he said cheerfully, as if he hadn’t dropped a bomb on me. “I know you probably feel bad, but most businesses fail within the first few years. You’ll have plenty of time now to get a real job.”
“What? I-I-I . . . You can’t—” Dots danced in front of my eyes as the oxygen was sucked out of the room. I felt numb with shock.
“Of course, you won’t be able to pay off the loan,” he went on, oblivious to the cliff he had pushed me off or that I was flailing to find a way to survive the fall. “I talked to the owner of the gallery we will be attending tonight, and they might be interested in purchasing your little shop. The name will have to change, of course. They can’t be associated with all those nasty rumors. I can discuss their offer tonight. Don’t worry, I think we can make enough to allow you time to look—”
“No!”
“I’m doing what’s best for you.” Brice lectured, as if he was talking to a small child.
“No, Brice, you’re doing what’s best for you. You’re a self-centered asshole who has done nothing but make my life miserable. I’m not selling my gallery. One way or another I will find a way to pay that loan. Just remember this: karma is a bitch, and so am I,” I growled at him. The beads on the floor rattled around my feet as if the ground were shaking. “One of these days I’m going to pay you back for being the creepy pervert that you are and spreading all of those lies. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from me and my business.”
I slammed the phone down so hard I was surprised it stayed intact. Then, for good measure, I threw it at the wall. I stomped to the door and flipped the gallery sign to Closed, nearly ripping it from its hanger. It was the middle of the day, but so the fuck what? Customers weren’t exactly knocking down the door to get in.
A seething rage fueled every furious step back to my office. The crunch of one of the pieces of jewelry under my foot spiked the fire higher. When I gripped the handle of the office door, the whole thing rattled on its hinges and then crashed to the floor.
Great, my gallery was falling apart too.
I walked across the fallen door, and threw myself into my chair. My fist banged against the desk, making everything on top of it jump an inch into the air. I had poured everything into this gallery. Everything. Damn them all. All of those assholes and their . . . assholery! They aren’t taking my gallery away. Not one single piece. This is mine.
Damnit, there has to be something I can do.
My brain was spinning with the absolute knowledge that my gallery was going to be taken from me. The rumors, the lies, the blacklisting from the art community, the imposed isolation from Dia so I didn’t bring her down with me. It all combined to obliterate my carefully crafted life. My breath panted out in short bursts as panic filled me. Thoughts rioted through my head chasing solutions that all ended with the same inevitable conclusion.
Prostitution. Robbery. The Lottery. None of those were going to solve my problem without creating more issues. I gripped my hair as if I could pull the answer out by the roots.
Darkness erupted from the brittle pavement of my highway threatening to consume me. My mother’s scream filled my head as if I were back onboard that ship with my parents, unable to save them once more. Then that scream manifested as my own as I tipped my head back and let go.
The desk shook and my purse tipped over spilling its contents. The dam finally cracked, releasing a flood of tears. I was not one of those delicate criers. My eyes and nose felt hot and tingly already. I gulped down the sobs choking me, blindly reaching for the box of tissues on my desk. My fingers scraped across something sharp, and I jolted from the pain.
I wiped my eyes with the tissue and threw it in the trashcan. My chest felt hollowed out as I painstakingly repaired the highway and tucked everything away. Then I noticed the beads of blood along my pointer finger. I dabbed the blood away from the paper cut and, grabbing the offending card like it was Flea Boy’s neck, I started to crush it in my fist.
Wait a minute. There was something familiar about this card.
A smeared drop of blood was the only thing on the white surface. Then, slowly, black writing started to reveal itself as if a fire was burning across the paper. I dropped the card to the desk, reluctant to touch the creepy thing.
Black symbols appeared—three on each side of the card. This was the invitation Dia had given me at lunch all those weeks ago. I’d put it in my purse that day as we left Mussels and hadn’t thought of it since.
The center of the card read:
You are chosen.
Child of Light.
What you seek, you may find.
Courage. Desire. Peace.
All could be yours in the Paldimori Games.
An e-mail address was listed at the bottom of the card, urging the invitee to join the Games. Curious, I logged into my laptop and entered the site address. There was a white background with the same symbols in a repeating pattern down either side of the page. The center consisted of a countdown box to the deadline for entrance and a short application. A list of very general requirements stated that the applicant had to be over twenty-one and available for the full four-week period in July. Dia had said something about this being an invite-only kind of thing so maybe the hard part was gettin
g to this point.
The bottom of the screen had a long disclaimer that listed a bunch of legal stuff about nondisclosures and privacy agreements. However, it was the contest prize information that drew my attention. Contestants were able to win prizes in every competition of the Games. The grand prizewinner would take home three million dollars!
Is this for real? My god, that would pay for a hell of a lot more than my loan. I could make a fresh start if I wanted to.
The blinking cursor taunted me. Was I really going to do this? Me and physical activity were not a good combination mostly because I was accident-prone. It had been years, though since I’d had an incident—avoiding gyms had helped. Maybe things had changed? The stress of the last few months had whittled off a few pounds. Moving inventory around the gallery had built a bit of muscle. What did I have to lose?
I quickly completed the form and pressed Submit. A black circle with six flickering rays appeared. Stars twinkled into existence within the circle. Then tendrils of colors burst forward. The colors seemed to pulse in time with the flickering rays, like a heartbeat. When nothing new happened on the screen, I reached for the card again to study the symbols while I waited.
It had been a while since my art history class, but there was a certain style to the symbols that seemed familiar.
What the—?
The message that had been on the card before was gone. In its place were two lines:
Light of the Faith
Anerrhiphtho Kybos
What on earth did that mean? The screen on my laptop suddenly went black, drawing my attention away from the mysterious card. A shiver raced down my spine as I read the bold white letters typing out across the screen.
Paldimori Gods Rising Box Set Page 5