Stella Maris (The Legendary Rosaries)

by Marita A. Hansen

  My gaze moved back to him. “That’s not an excuse.”

  “I wasn’t saying it was.”

  “Have you been following me around other times?”

  “Only that time I shot in front of you. Contrary to what you think, I’m not that desperate to get into your knickers.”

  I scowled at him. “Did you have to word it that way?”

  A laugh escaped his lips. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about fucking me with the way you rolled me over. Talk about aggressive.”

  “So, when a guy does what he wants it’s okay, but when a girl does the same thing it’s not?”

  “Hell no! I’m more than okay with it.” He threw me a smirk. “I’ll let you go on top anytime you want.”

  “Shut up and drive.”

  He sniggered. “Forty-four, or should I say six-nine, here we come.” He sniggered some more.

  “Shut up, smartass, and I’m not going home, I have to go to Granger Road,” I said, needing to start my lessons with Sister Cecile. I could just explain to her that I’d gotten a lift with a friend, which wasn’t a total lie, Christopher acting friendly right now.

  Christopher turned left onto my road, passing my tan brick and white Hollowstone block house. “I know where that is,” he said, “it’s the same road where Star of the Sea primary school is.”

  “I need to go to the house next door to Star of the Sea.”

  He glanced at me. “Why do you need to go there?”

  “None of your business.”

  He scowled. “You don’t need to be rude all the time.”

  “If you object so much, don’t give me a ride.”

  He exhaled. “I want to give you one. I just wish you didn’t mind me giving it to you.”

  “Is that some sort of sexual innuendo?”

  His smile returned. “No, but I’m happy to turn it into one.”

  I shook my head, the guy impossible.

  “Are you going to confirmation class tonight?” he asked, thankfully changing the topic. “Janet can’t make it on Sunday, so she moved it for this week.”

  “Yeah, I’m going.”

  “Do you want a lift? I can pick you up.”

  “Are you handing in your stalker card for a bodyguard one?”

  He smirked. “I can also be your personal trainer and masseur. I’m good with my hands.” He lifted them off the wheel, making the car swerve.

  I yelled out, “Hands on the wheel!”

  He kept them off it, but the car straightened, Christopher not using his hands to drive.

  “What the hell?” I said, stunned.

  He laughed and put his hands back on the steering wheel. “It’s a trick I learned from my…” He cut himself off, not saying who it was, although I pretty much guessed it was his grandfather.

  “How did you do that?” I asked. “I thought you had to touch a bead to do magic.”

  “Nah, I’m not a Terra. My knees are controlling the wheel.” He let go of the steering wheel again and nodded at his lap.

  I looked down, noticing he was using his knees to steer the car. I scowled at him. “Stop that, it’s dangerous.”

  He sniggered and put his hands back on the wheel, slowing down for a roundabout.

  “What’s a Terror?” I asked. “Sounds bad.”

  “No, they’re called Terras. They’re the keepers of the wine rosaries. They can control objects.”

  I sat up straighter, remembering he’d mentioned other types of Merges the previous time he’d given me a lift.

  “Are they good?” I asked.

  He took a right around the roundabout. “Most of the time,” he said, paying attention to the traffic, not me. “You might get the occasional arsehole Terra, but overall, they’re all right. Well, the angel ones are, definitely not the demon ones. Luckily, I’ve never run into one of those bastards. I’ve only ever had problems with Marises and fellow Seraphim. The Seraphim tend to have the worst tempers.” He smirked. “But are the hottest lovers.”

  “Har de har, har, your humour kills me.”

  He shrugged. “There’s always a critic.”

  He continued down the slope, the road dipping and veering up again in a U shape. I turned to look out the window as we passed Agnaru Cemetery, where my grandparents were buried, along with my twin. I closed my eyes for a moment, willing myself not to think about Vesna, because it always made me want to cry. After I had myself under control, I reopened my eyes, remaining quiet as Christopher continued onwards, the road eventually leading onto Granger Road. I pointed to the little cream-coloured cottage sitting next to my old Spanish-styled primary school. He pulled the car into the driveway, bringing it to a halt just outside Sister Cecile’s home.

  Switching off the ignition, he turned to me. “Do you want me to pick you up from here or your house?”

  I frowned at him, the guy definitely related to Stephen. They both never gave up. “Did I say yes to the ride to confirmation? I don’t think so.”

  He gave me a crooked grin. “I’m still going to turn up, so unless you don’t want me banging on your front door, you’ll say yes.”

  I grunted. “Man, you’re persistent.”

  “Don’t usually have to be. Girls normally just say yes, please,” he said, putting on a girly voice.

  I snorted out a laugh. “You can pick me up from my house, then,” I replied, not believing I was agreeing to another lift from him.

  His smile widened, the expression endearing. Beautiful. For a second I wondered why I was giving him such a hard time, then remembered. His grandfather. But before I could push the door open and get out, he leaned forward and planted a kiss on my lips. All thought of his grandfather disappeared in an instant. I nipped his bottom lip, but not to get him to stop, but to get him to open his mouth. And he did, his expression surprised. Although he shouldn’t be, since I’d bitten his bottom lip before. He was quickly becoming an addiction, something I knew was bad for me, but couldn’t resist. It frustrated the hell out of me, because no matter how hard I pushed him away with one hand, my other was working against me, yanking him back for just one more taste. Then a second, a third, and ... oh dear Lord, he tasted soooo gooooood!

  I slipped my tongue inside his mouth, seeing his surprise quickly morph into lust. But I wasn’t just seeing it, I was feeling it. The air around us was practically crackling with electricity. We both grabbed for each other’s heads at the same time, our tongues clashing. I could practically taste the hunger rolling off him, lust and desire, fire and ice steaming up the car.

  Then it stopped.

  He let go of my head and pulled away. He went to say something, but I didn’t want to talk.

  I wanted to kiss.

  I grabbed his head again, tangling my fingers in his silken black hair.

  He jerked his head to the side, avoiding my kiss. “Stop, Catherine,” he said, wincing at the pull on his hair.

  Not understanding, I let go. “Why?” I asked, wondering whether he was paying me back.

  His gaze moved past me. I turned to see what had caught his attention, jumping at the sight of Sister Cecile. She was standing on the other side of my window with a hell hath no fury expression.

  She yanked my door open with more power than I would give credit to an old lady. “Out!” she barked like a sergeant major.

  I glanced back at Christopher. “Guess I’ll see you later.”

  He nodded, his eyes still on the nun, a look of wariness tempering his expression.

  I hopped out of the car. As soon as my door was closed, Christopher backed out of the driveway like he couldn’t get away fast enough. The sea spread out behind him, the sun sewing a sparkly pattern across the crystal-clear water. But I couldn’t enjoy the scenery, Sister Cecile snapping at me already.

  “Who is that boy?” she asked, her ancient face not hiding her disapproval.

  “Christopher Laboure.”

  Her eyes widened. “And you got in a car alone with him? Why would you do that? I told
you I was going to pick you up.”

  “I changed my mind about staying at school.”

  “You can’t just skip out of school.”

  “I have a bad headache. My mum didn’t even want me to go, so skipping out isn’t a big deal.”

  “Getting a ride with a murderer’s grandson is a big deal!”

  I winced at her shout. “I’m not lying about the headache.”

  “Headaches will go away, while doing foolish things will get you killed.”

  “Look, Chris is all right. After all, he did save my life, and he only gave me a lift to make sure his grandfather didn’t follow me. And it’s not his fault that his grandfather’s a psychotic murderer.”

  “Do you even hear yourself speak?” she asked, looking like she thought I was insane. Maybe I was.

  I shrugged. “As I said, he did save my life.”

  Her expression turned sceptical. “You truly trust this boy?”

  “Why shouldn’t I? He went against his grandfather for me.”

  “It doesn’t mean he’ll always side with you. And you shouldn’t be kissing him.”

  “Why not?” I asked, although she had a good point, especially since I was trying to push him away. It really wasn’t fair on Christopher, because I was definitely giving him mixed messages. One second I didn’t want to be anywhere near him, the next I wanted to climb him like a tree.

  Sister Cecile continued, “He’s the enemy, not to mention it’s inappropriate.”

  “I just told you he’s not my enemy and it’s not inappropriate to kiss a boy. We’re not in whatever century you were born in, you know.”

  Her eyes widened. “Show some respect!”

  I winced, my mouth having run off before my brain had sensed the freefall. “Sorry, my mouth and brain don’t always work in unison, plus you did say Merges don’t age the same as humans, so you could be centuries old for all I know. Are you?”

  “No! I’m eighty-nine.”

  “But, you said Merges are supposed to live longer and age well.”

  Her eyes went even wider.

  “Oh, no, no,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t mean you look old,” even though you do, “you just don’t look any different from a human of the same age.”

  “Enough about my age! Get inside now,” she said gruffly, the woman so freaking sensitive it wasn’t funny.

  When I didn’t move straight away, she indicated to her house with an angry jab. I sighed and headed for it. She shuffled past me, her hunch even more pronounced than the last time I’d seen her, making me think of the hunchback of Notre Dame. I followed her into her little lounge. She sat down on the old couch and picked up a large red book off the coffee table. I locked the front door and took the seat next to her, wrinkling my nose at the eau de mothball fragrance permeating the place.

  “You do realise you’re literally playing with fire with that boy,” she said, placing the book on her lap.

  “I tried to avoid him, but he always finds me, so I might as well just learn to deal with him.”

  Her frown didn’t lessen. “The way you were dealing with him in his car was highly inappropriate. You two were practically...” She cleared her throat, looking deeply uncomfortable. “Just don’t do it again,” she said, waggling a finger at me as if I was a naughty little girl. Though, it wouldn’t surprise me if she still thought of me as one.

  She continued in her you’re-a-naughty-little-girl-and-need-to-be-told-off voice. “If you give in so easily with Christopher, you don’t have a chance against my father.”

  “They’re not the same,” I said, ignoring what she’d said about Reprebus being her father, that titbit still hard to fathom. “Chris is a good guy.”

  “While his grandfather’s evil. He’ll use the boy to get at you, which means you’re now even more exposed. And if Christopher is truly, genuinely wanting to have a relationship with you, you can’t ever go to his house, or share the things that are the most important to him, because my father will attack you at the first opportunity he gets.”

  “But… I’m going to have to face Reprebus sooner or later,” I said, not wanting to, but knowing I didn’t have a say in the matter. “That’s why I need your help, not criticism.”

  Sister Cecile grunted. “Although I do not agree with you, I will not bother you about this matter any further, since we need to get to your lessons without delay. But, Catherine, please be extra careful when you’re with that boy. And one more thing, his grandfather is my father, while I’m your great auntie. Do you realise what that means?”

  I stared at her for a moment, then my eyes went big. “Holy shit! That would make Chris a relative.”

  She winced at my choice of words. “Yes, Christopher is my nephew, while you’re my great grandniece.”

  “Whoa,” I said. “But it’s still not close enough to be like gross. Not like first cousins. It’s distant.”

  “Still related.”

  “Doesn’t bother me. My parents are third and fourth cousins, I even have one set of great grandparents that are first cousins.”

  She stared at me blankly.

  I continued, “Go back a few centuries in my family’s timeline and you’ll find my mum and dad are descended from siblings.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Oh, no, no, no,” I quickly said, realising she’d gotten the wrong idea. “The siblings didn’t do the deed, they married other people. My dad is descended from the sister, while my mum comes from the brother.” I shrugged. “That’s just the way things are when you’re from a small island. Everyone’s related somehow. Though, it’s kind of cool that my parents met in New Zealand, not Yugoslavia. Sort of like it was meant to be. Kismet.”

  She continued to stare at me, what I’d said obviously leaving her speechless. I didn’t care, just wanted my lesson, not judgement.

  I tapped the book. “My lesson?”

  She blinked, then nodded, opening the book to page one.

  Chapter 18

  I shifted through my wardrobe, trying to pick something to wear for confirmation class. I pulled a dress out, then instantly put it back in, wondering why I even considered it. It was too nice for a confirmation lesson; jeans and a shirt or a blouse was all I needed, but… I pulled it out again and closed the wardrobe. Placing the dress against me, I eyed myself in my vanity mirror, wondering whether Christopher would like it. All he’d seen me in were jeans or shorts, and T-shirts. I slipped off my shirt and jeans and pulled the dress on, doing the buttons up, which ran down the middle. I smiled, imagining Christopher undoing them. The smile fell away. What was I thinking?! I couldn’t have a relationship with him.

  But it looked sooo nice.

  My gaze ran down the knee-length dress. The green and red floral patterns on the black background suited my colouring perfectly, while the cut of the dress also suited my slim figure. Yet it would send the wrong message to Christopher. Though, it wasn’t like I hadn’t sent a thousand wrong messages already.

  God! He was right. I was a bitch. I cringed at the word, hating it, but it was true. I was leading him on while pushing him away at the same time. It wasn’t fair on him. Just...

  Why did he have to be so hot?

  I was never one for self-control, but with him, it was almost non-existent, because I couldn’t keep my damn mouth off his.

  Sighing, I took the dress off and slipped my jeans and shirt back on, disappointed I couldn’t wear it, also disappointed I wouldn’t see Christopher’s face when he saw me in it. Though, it wasn’t really suitable since I couldn’t hide the rosary underneath it, the neckline too low. Yet the shirt I was wearing didn’t exactly do a good job of hiding the rosary either, the loadstone and a few other beads poking out.

  I ran my finger over the loadstone’s bumpy triangular surface, counting all the flecks of gesso that had originally covered the stone. Although age had eaten away at the blue paint, the stone was still working, Sister Cecile reassuring me it was as strong as ever. She’d told me that the
loadstone on Reprebus’ rosary was what had lured me out of school. The crystalline-looking bead held a magnetic power that was able to lock onto and pull in anything that held even a minute amount of iron, like humans—and Merges. But if I’d been wearing the Maris rosary, I could’ve used my own loadstone to repel his one.

  The sound of a car pulling into the driveway drew my attention away from the stone. Wondering whether it was Christopher, I grabbed a chiffon scarf and wrapped it around my neck, tying it in the front, the silk completely covering the rosary.

  A car door slammed, then the doorbell rang. Grabbing my bomber jacket, I left my room and headed down the staircase, calling out, “Bye, Mum and Dad, my ride’s here.”

  My mum replied with a bye, while my dad didn’t say boo. He’d probably fallen asleep in his Lazy-Boy chair, his metal polishing business exhausting him.

  I pulled the front door open, unable to hold back my smile at the sweet sight of Christopher, who, unlike me, had worn smart clothes. His button-down black shirt looked expensive, possibly silk, while his dark slacks hugged his thighs so deliciously I could gobble him up. He looked like he was about to walk a Milan runway instead of going to a confirmation class in the sleepy suburb of Agnaru.

  “Ciao,” he said, his gaze sweeping my body, making me regret not wearing the dress. I almost considered telling him to wait so I could change, but instead stepped through the doorway, closing it behind me. He wasn’t my boyfriend and I didn’t want a relationship. This was just a ride, nothing else, which meant I wasn’t allowed to give him mixed signals. No leading him on, nah ah, not even a teensy weensy bit, no matter how scrumptious he was.

  He slipped an arm over my shoulders.

  “No touching, stalker.” I pushed it off and headed for his car, smiling at his little chuckle.

  “I’m not a stalker if I’m invited,” he said, striding past me. He pulled my door open.

  I shook my head. “I’ve been on a number of dates and have never had someone open a door for me.” I slipped into the passenger seat, noticing he was grinning wide. “What are you so pleased about?”

  “You called this a date, which means we’re going out together, which also means I get a kiss at the end of the night or even possibly—”