Harley Merlin 2: Harley Merlin and the Mystery Twins

by Bella Forrest

  Ugh, my life was already complicated enough, before I opened my damn mouth.

  I looked out and noticed St. Clair’s Café just half a block down the road. My face lit up, remembering the second reason I’d chosen to come with Wade, Santana, and Raffe to this side of town. The Smiths lived nearby, and I hadn’t seen them in a while—before my induction into the coven and its cornucopia of weird and potentially deadly, to be precise.

  Ryann was away at UCLA, so I figured they’d welcome a visit from their foster daughter instead.

  “Can we stop at the café for a break? There’s someone I need to see nearby,” I said, pointing at St. Clair’s.

  Wade frowned. “Who do you need to see?”

  “My foster parents. I just want to drop by and check in on them, that’s all. Fifteen minutes, tops. I promise!” I replied, putting on my most innocent puppy face.

  “I could use a break and a bagel,” Santana chimed in.

  “I need coffee,” Raffe added, his voice low and gruff. It was a tad weird, as if it wasn’t really Raffe talking. I’d heard it before over the past few weeks, but never for long enough to make me worry. Santana and Wade didn’t show any signs of concern. I was definitely intrigued, making a mental note to find the courage and a good moment to ask him about his abilities as a warlock. Those glimmering red eyes I’d seen earlier were definitely involved.

  “Fine. You’ve got twenty minutes, Merlin,” Wade commanded, pulling over just outside the café.

  “Make it thirty. There’s always a line for the bakery,” I pleaded, as we got out of the car. “I can’t go to the Smiths empty-handed.”

  Wade rolled his eyes and motioned for me to go ahead. He didn’t say anything, so I took his gesture as a “Whatever.” Worked for me.

  I left him, Raffe, and Santana at one of the tables outside, while I went in and grabbed three lattes and a small pastry basket, complete with scones and banana walnut bread—Mrs. Smith’s favorites, and always a good bribe whenever I needed a favor. They also worked as a peace offering, and I’d had to get her plenty of those for my somewhat turbulent two years in prep school.

  This time, however, they were just a heartfelt gift, something I knew would put a smile on Mrs. Smith’s face and would save Mr. Smith the trouble of brewing more coffee before lunch.

  When Mrs. Smith opened the door and saw me, she let out a gasp, then beamed like a nuclear reactor.

  “Harley!” she croaked, a broad smile stretching her lips. “What a joy! What brings you here, honey? It’s been a while!”

  That was her way of saying, “I’ve missed you, and where the heck have you been, child?!”

  I laughed as she leaned forward and kissed my cheeks. She then relieved me of the pastry basket, her eyes twinkling with delight.

  “I know, and I’m sorry!” I replied. “I’ve been insanely busy lately, but I was in the area with work, so I thought I’d pop by and say hello.”

  I followed her inside the house as she led the way into the open-plan kitchen and dining room. This was still one of the best and most decent houses I’d lived in. It was simple and tastefully decorated in a pale blue and beige palette, with hardwood flooring and Art Nouveau lighting. The furniture was all sturdy and functional, and every surface had a little statuette or trinket box or anything that could serve as a decorative object. There was a reason why Ryann and I had gone to such a design-oriented prep school. Mrs. Smith had also been a student there.

  Mr. Smith was in the kitchen, wiping his hands with a dry cloth. Over by the counter island stood a teenage boy in cream cargo pants and a pale blue polo shirt—the preppy uniform belonging to the same school. Ryann and I had worn cream skirts, which we’d both hated with the fire of a thousand suns. Looking back now, I understood why Ryann had been so quick to change to pantsuits in college.

  “Well, it’s a pleasure to have you here!” Mrs. Smith replied as she put the basket on the counter island, right in front of the boy. He seemed equally dazzled by banana walnut bread, from what I could tell and feel in my tummy. Either that, or he was just hungry. Mrs. Smith took the coffees away, helping herself to one and handing the second over to the boy.

  She pointed at the third. “Harley, you’re getting that one. Dad here needs to cut down on the caffeine!”

  I chuckled, just as Mr. Smith hugged me, equally thrilled to see me. “Oh, Harley, glad to have you back! We’ve missed you!”

  “I know… I’m sorry. I promise I’ll visit more often,” I said, relishing the feel of his fatherly embrace. With everything I’d learned over the past month, I needed this. So much.

  As soon as I stepped back, however, I noticed the slight awkwardness in the room. There was always love in this place, and happy thoughts lingered from these people, but this time, it was a little different. The young man was excited and nervous—mostly because of me. We looked at each other for a little while as Mr. and Mrs. Smith exchanged glances.

  “Harley, I want you to meet Jacob,” Mrs. Smith said.

  I shook the boy’s hand and found myself instantly flooded by a mixture of adolescent emotions—hormonal angst, curiosity and… concern. The latter was a feeling I hadn’t felt since I’d first set foot in the Smiths’ house. He was afraid he’d get carted off to another family. Jacob was a foster kid, like me. I could feel it in my bones.

  “You’re fostering again,” I murmured, giving Jacob a warm smile. “I’m Harley. Also a black garbage bag kid.”

  “Oh,” Jacob replied, genuinely surprised. “You… You’re the Harley.”

  I laughed as Mr. Smith took out some plates from the cupboard and proceeded to serve up the scones and banana walnut bread slices. “The Harley? I take it I’m still famous in this household?”

  “Of course!” Mrs. Smith exclaimed. “We always gush about you!”

  “Harley, by the way, I ran into Malcolm at the grocery store the other day,” Mr. Smith interjected. “He said you’re working with Homeland Security now? Did I hear that right, sweetie?”

  “I forgot y’all know each other,” I said, wearing a nervous smile. Surprisingly, I wasn’t the one on edge in that room. Jacob was close to screaming and running away, from what I was feeling.

  Jeez, kid. What’s gotten you so shaken up?

  “Yeah, he was sorry to see you leave the casino job. I was surprised, actually,” Mr. Smith replied. “I thought you loved that place! I mean, for your gap year, anyway.”

  “Speaking of which, have you decided on any colleges yet, honey?” Mrs. Smith asked. “Remember, our offer to help you with your tuition still stands. I know you want your financial independence and whatnot, but we do have a little set aside. Don’t fall into some student loan trap, okay?”

  I smiled. How could I not love these people when they were so kind and generous, and had always treated me as their own?

  “I’m okay for now,” I said. “I haven’t decided on a school yet, but my worst-case scenario is another gap year until I make up my mind. I’m homing in on a career choice, though, and this Homeland Security gig has definitely opened up some new horizons for me.”

  “That’s so good to hear, sweetie!” Mrs. Smith replied. “I guess this new job will definitely look good on any college application, right?”

  “Oh, absolutely,” I murmured. I felt bad for lying to them, but they deserved to be ignorant of everything magical. The whole secrecy thing was beginning to make a lot more sense to me, especially after my struggles with Finch and the gargoyles. There were creatures out there that these wonderful people didn’t need to know about.

  I looked at Jacob, irked by his stretched nerves. “You don’t have to worry about me, dude, I’m not a narc or anything,” I said to him, grinning. “I’m just an agent in training. We deal with domestic and foreign terrorists, not unruly teenagers.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Smith both laughed. Jacob only gave me a weak smile.

  “So, when did you decide to foster again?” I asked Mrs. Smith.

  “Oh, a few weeks ago
,” she replied, putting a slender arm around Jacob. The Smiths were beautiful people in their late forties, much like those stylish couples in American fashion catalogs—the handsome, mid-forties couples who wore cardigans and played tennis on Sunday.

  In an eerie but sweet contrast, Jacob was remarkably different. The Smiths were both blond-haired and brown-eyed, tall and slim and perfectly tanned. Jacob was slightly shorter than me, stocky but toned, with long black hair and hazel-green eyes. His cheekbones and caramel skin tone had some serious Native American influences, but there was also Latino blood in this boy.

  “Jacob is sixteen, and he just enrolled at your school,” Mr. Smith said, giving Jacob a warm smile. “He’s been with us for two weeks now.”

  Jacob nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

  “Well, tell you what, Jake—mind if I call you Jake?” I asked. He smiled. That was my okay to chop his name up for my verbal comfort. “Tell you what, Jake, you’re the luckiest boy in the San Diego foster system. The Smiths are amazing.”

  Jacob chuckled. He was so shy but so eager to fit in, to settle, and to be loved. Everything he felt, I’d felt, too. He needed patience and encouragement, understanding and nurturing, and the Smiths were definitely the right people to do that.

  “I know. They’ve been so great,” he said.

  “Aw, honey, you deserve it and more!” Mrs. Smith replied, dropping a kiss on his temple.

  “Do you know anything about your biological parents?” I asked him, nagged by his underlying feeling of guilt and fear. Jacob was worried about something, and, judging by how bright and jovial the Smiths were, he hadn’t spoken to them about whatever it was.

  Jacob shook his head. “Never met them. Don’t know their names,” he said, his voice lower than usual. I sensed deception, but I didn’t want to make a scene.

  I was planning to dig into his past later, anyway. For now, I settled on getting to know him better and reading his emotions. I hadn’t seen the Smiths in months. The last thing I wanted was to start an unpleasant conversation based on my Empathy, which they had no idea about, anyway. I, too, was lying to them, after all.

  “Well, you’re in good hands now, young man,” Mr. Smith replied before motioning for the door. “Now, grab your bag and let’s go. Your coach will kill us if we’re late again!”

  Jacob gave him an enthusiastic smile, then picked up his lacrosse stick and training bag off the floor. Mr. Smith hugged me again and kissed the top of my head.

  “It’s Jacob’s third practice with Coach Mueller,” he explained. “You know how tardiness gets his pants in a twist!”

  I laughed. “Hah, the old tortoise is still kicking, huh?”

  “Harley!” Mrs. Smith gasped, in a delicate attempt to reprimand me.

  I gave her a shrug, noticing Jacob’s amusement. He knew what I was talking about. “What? He does look like a tortoise.”

  Mr. Smith chuckled, grabbed one of the pastry plates, waved us goodbye, and walked out, followed by Jacob, who gave me a brief glance over the shoulder. A few seconds later, the front door closed behind them. Jacob was definitely worried about something, but I wasn’t sure what. I was going to find out, though. Covertly. Behind the Smiths’ backs. Like the sneaky little devil that I’d become…

  Mrs. Smith kept smiling at me, and her affection filled me with warmth. Ryann had inherited more than her good looks; kindness ran in the family.

  “What?” I asked, blushing.

  “You are getting even more beautiful, honey,” she replied, before taking a bite out of a scone and moaning with sheer pleasure. “My God, these are amazing. St. Clair’s, huh?”

  “Just around the corner,” I said with a grin. “And thank you.”

  “How’ve you been, Harley? Something’s different about you.”

  Leave it to Mrs. Smith to read me like an open book!

  I couldn’t tell her everything, but I could at least share one important update with her. “I found my biological parents,” I said.

  She stilled, her eyes wide with shock. “Oh, wow… Who are they?”

  “Were. They’re both dead,” I replied, my voice trembling slightly. “Hester and Hiram Merlin. They were from New York. I’m not sure how I ended up in San Diego, but… at least I know where I come from.”

  “Honey. I’m so sorry.” Mrs. Smith sighed, putting the scone down and taking my hands in hers. I welcomed the instant flow of affection. There wasn’t pity there, but rather sadness. She would’ve wanted me to find my parents alive and well, without worrying about competition. She knew she’d been an amazing mom for the two years that she and her husband had me. They’d always own a huge piece of my heart.

  “It’s okay. I got closure, I guess,” I said, giving her a weak smile. “So, tell me about Jacob! What’s he like?”

  Mrs. Smith instantly deflated. Mild sadness poured through me like a cold shower.

  “He’s a wonderful kid, you know?” she replied. “He’s quiet, doesn’t get into any trouble. Smart as a whip! But… I think he went through something. I think he had some bad experiences before, Harley. Like, really bad.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “He’s got crippling night terrors. He wakes up screaming and sweating,” Mrs. Smith explained. “I tried to talk to him about it. I spoke to Social Services, too, but they couldn’t tell me anything. They said his last foster mom died, which was why he went back into the system, but that he’d been treated well, and that he was always on his best behavior. I don’t know, maybe Social Services wasn’t aware or something. You know how abusers can be, hiding in plain sight and deceiving everyone.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. All too well. How did his previous foster mom die, though?”

  “I think it was a heart attack or a stroke. One of the two. It was sudden. No one saw what happened.”

  “Maybe Jacob is still recovering from that. It can be traumatic to lose a good foster parent, you know,” I muttered, glancing around the kitchen. I smiled at the sight of souvenir fridge magnets. Half of those Ryann had collected during her European trips. I recognized Mrs. Smith’s handwriting on a shopping list, caught under one of the magnets. I had so many good memories of this place, and I found myself wanting the same for Jacob.

  “I get that, but I think there’s more to it than that. I don’t know, call it a mother’s intuition,” Mrs. Smith replied, then put on a pleading puppy dog face. I knew I’d learned that from someone… “Harley, can you help me?”

  I blinked several times. Hope blossomed in my chest. That was all hers. “If I can, sure.”

  “Come by more often. Spend some time with Jacob whenever you can,” she said, squeezing my hands. “You still have the house keys. You don’t even have to announce that you’re coming. Just pop by once in a while, play a video game with him. Take him out for ice cream or something. I think he’ll be more likely to open up to you as a foster kid than me, the oblivious suburban mom,” she added, laughing lightly. “I’m thinking he’ll at least feel better if he talks about it. I don’t need to know what happened, if I’m being honest. I just want him to forget the past and look into the future. I want Jacob to sleep well at night and live a better life here with us.”

  Her request kind of floored me. It also made me feel incredibly important and responsible, all of a sudden. Deep down, I liked it. I would’ve loved a little brother while growing up. Most of the kids I got attached to never stayed in my life for too long. Maybe Jacob was different.

  The fear and guilt I’d caught from him did warrant my curiosity and concern. Assuming these emotions were linked to his night terrors, I figured I could at least try to help the boy. I owed it to the Smiths for having been such good parents, and I owed it to Jacob, too, in a way. Mrs. Smith was right. He deserved a good shot at life.

  Getting rid of whatever skeletons were in his closet sounded like the right way to get started.

  “Okay. I’ll do it,” I replied.

  In less than a millisecond, Mrs. Smith had her arms wr
apped around me. “Thank you, sweetie. Thank you so much. You are a great sister to Ryann, and I know you’ll be an even better sister to Jacob.”

  I melted in her embrace, overwhelmed by the pure love and positivity oozing out of this woman. She could be really intense sometimes, but she was a beam of sunshine in my life. So, yeah, stopping by to talk to the kid once in a while wasn’t an issue for me. After everything the Smiths had given me, it was the least I could do.

  Nine

  Tatyana

  There was something odd about the Hellers’ house. I could tell from the moment we got out of Dylan’s silver Prius, for which we never ceased to torment him.

  The house itself was nice and in the local suburban style, with two levels, a few palm trees framing the stony pathway, and flowers bursting through the front yard. Nothing out of the ordinary. But there was a vibe that just didn’t sit well with me, as if the air was thick and eager to suffocate me.

  Astrid and Dylan didn’t seem affected. I brushed the feeling away for the time being, blaming the uneasiness on my previous encounter with the ghost of little Will—whose death was beginning to nag me. On the way here, I’d used my smartphone to briefly check for any news about a kid’s murder at Mina’s house, but I’d found nothing. Astrid had also put a search through Smartie, but no results had come up yet.

  “Maria and Damian Heller,” Dylan said, reading out loud from the file. “They’re fostering Kenneth Willow, aged seventeen. His parents died in a car crash when he was twelve, and he had no immediate family, so he wound up in the system.”

  “If I’m not mistaken, there were reports of objects flying around in his presence, right?” I asked, while Astrid continued to work on her Smartie tablet. She was trying different keywords through the local database, while waiting for Alton to send her the clearance codes for the national database.

  Dylan nodded. “Yeah. Plus some violent incidents at school, but most were attributed to a couple of kids with mental problems.”