by Tamar Sloan
But there’s no answer. And the silvery smoke continues to accumulate.
Reign kicks at it, his stomach lurching when it fractures only to come back together like it’s made of millions of magnetic particles. It coalesces and consolidates, multiplying and thickening. Pooling into one spot in front of him.
He swears it starts to form into an outline of a man.
“Shit,” Reign breathes. “It’s happening.”
After years of being shoved from one foster home to the next followed by semi-homelessness, after losing every family member he’s ever had, after choosing the oblivion of drugs one too many times, he’s finally snapped his biscuit. Lost his mind.
Followed in his foster brother’s legacy.
The thought is terrifying. And if there’s one thing Reign hates, it’s being scared.
He clenches his fists and coils his muscles. He’ll fight that feeling with everything he has.
The mist continues to swirl into a man-shaped column, defying gravity as it climbs upward. Reign swings at it, his fist slicing through the hallucination he wishes he wasn’t experiencing. The mist divides as his wild punch cleaves the vapor in two. But as soon as his arm has cleared, the smoke fuses back together, as if Reign just missed. It starts to create a vortex, spinning faster and faster as the mist sparkles with dots of color.
“Oh no you don’t,” Reign mutters.
He swings again, this time harder and faster, as if he can win this by sheer force of will. His fist collides with a male chest, the impact reverberating up Reign’s arm.
“Oomph,” grunts the man.
Reign stumbles back. “What the—”
A man stands in front of him, old and gray, and exuding calm strength. Pale brown robes hang on his wiry body in regal layers, a thick beard brushing his chest. Reign instantly recognizes him as an older version of the man in his dream.
The guy straightens, recovering from the strike to his torso. “Your surprise is understandable, and your defense of yourself is commendable.” He bows. “Grail Keeper, it is an honor to meet you.”
Reign blinks. Then blinks again. Then slams his eyes shut and opens them again, just for good measure. The man in robes is still standing in front of him. Reign takes a step back only to hit the wall behind him.
“Fuck off.”
His plan was to practically shout the word, but it comes out as little more than a whisper. Reign swallows, desperately hoping this is another dream.
The man straightens, looking perplexed. “I do not understand your use of words.” He glances around. “What year of the Lord is this?”
“It means get the hell out of my space, you freak. And take your magic tricks and shove them up your—”
“Ah,” the man says knowingly. “I assure you; I am no apparition. I am Joseph of Arimathea, the first of the Keepers of the Grail.”
Joseph. Of. Arimathea.
The Grail.
Since when did snaps from reality become so intricate and interconnected? His dream. The library. Then this.
Reign’s head is thumping so hard it hurts. It feels like it wants to shatter under the pressure of everything that’s unfolding in front of him, but he knows if that happens, his thin hold on sanity will be destroyed along with it.
The weirdo who just stepped out of his dream smiles. “And your name?”
“Outta here.”
Reign uses the flash of confusion across the man’s face to try and sidestep him. But the man’s mind and reflexes are quicker than he expected, and the dude—Reign refuses to give his hallucination a name—quickly mirrors the movement to block him.
“You cannot.”
“Watch me,” Reign growls like he was just issued a challenge.
“But, the Innocents,” the man says, his voice full of concern. “They must be saved or the Gates of Hell will be opened. Death and destruction will be inevitable.”
“Oh, goodness me!” Reign exclaims, his hand flying to his chest. “I hadn’t realized it was that serious.”
The man unwinds a fraction. “I’m glad you understand the urgency of the situation. We must find the Grail at once.”
Reign shoves past him, grimacing as his shoulder collides with what should be a figment of his cracked mind. “You’d better go get yourself a Grail Keeper, then.”
He strides away, not looking back. The last thing he wants to see right now is the place his mind finally snapped. The place he broke.
Just like all the other craptastic moments in his life, he’s going to pretend this one never happened.
8
Arielle
Gabby meets Arielle at the door, almost as if she’d been waiting for her. She searches Arielle’s face with an intensity that’s almost unsettling.
“So, did you find anything about your dream?”
Arielle frowns. “No. I ran into a jerk.”
With too-green eyes and too much attitude.
Gabby’s face scrunches with frustration. Arielle’s about to ask what the big deal is when Aunt Shell’s voice rings down the hallway. “Is that Ari? Is she back?”
“Yes, Mom,” Gabby calls over her shoulder. “We’ll be there in a sec.”
She turns back to Arielle, but Aunt Shell appears in the kitchen doorway. “But I have bagels.” She holds up a paper bag. “Raisin cinnamon bagels.”
Gabby turns to her mother and stares at her for long seconds. Aunt Shell simply smiles, shaking the bag so the contents rattle inside. With a huff, Gabby takes Arielle’s hand and leads her to the kitchen. Arielle allows herself to be pulled along, feeling like she’s missing something.
Why is her cousin so interested in her dream?
In the kitchen, Aunt Shell already has three plates set out at the bench. She serves the bagels as Gabby brings over the coffee.
Aunt Shell sits down, already looking tired even though it’s only midmorning. She breaks off a chunk of bagel. “I almost didn’t get back in time. I had a flat tire, and if it wasn’t for a lovely young man, you’d be having toast.”
Gabby looks like she’s clenching her jaw as she cups her mug. “I’m sure we would’ve coped.”
Arielle glances at her in surprise. Gabby and Aunt Shell have always been close. They rarely disagree, and Arielle doesn’t think she’s ever seen them argue. But there are definitely some undercurrents shifting around the table right now.
Aunt Shell winks at her daughter. “But isn’t this better?” Before Gabby can respond, Aunt Shell turns to Arielle. “We thought we’d move in for a while your mom is...isn’t here? We can keep you company.”
Arielle blinks in surprise. “That would be great. Thank you.”
Aunt Shell smiles fondly at her. “Of course. You and Sierra are family.” She glances pointedly at Gabby. “And family sticks together.”
At the realization that their family unit is now down to three, Arielle’s gaze drops. Her grandmother died before she could remember her. Her grandfather left before she was born. She’s never known anything about her father’s family. Her mother’s absence is like a quarter of this table has just been torn away. She stares at the speckled bagel, smelling its warm cinnamon scent, and knows she can’t eat it. Her stomach is little more than a bunch of knots.
She looks up at her aunt and cousin. “Has there been any more news?”
Aunt Shell’s gaze flickers, but it’s Gabby who answers. “No, nothing.”
“That’s what I suspected.” Arielle straightens her shoulders. “I’m not going to sit around and wait for the police to fail my family again. I’m going to find Mom myself.”
Aunt Shell sits up like she just received an electric shock. “What? I don’t think that’s a very good idea at all.”
Gabby pops a piece of bagel in her mouth and doesn’t say anything. In fact, she picks up the newspaper sitting on the table beside her and idly flicks through it.
Her mother leans forward. “Ari, we don’t know who took your mother. Sierra would want me to keep you safe.”
Aunt Shell frowns, possibly not liking the logical argument.
Arielle turns to her cousin, noting her unusual quietness. Gabby usually has an opinion on most things. “What do you think, Gabby?”
Gabby folds the newspaper and picks up her bagel. Aunt Shell seems to be holding her breath.
“I think if it were me, I’d do whatever I can to get my mother back.”
Aunt Shell gasps. “Gabby! I don’t think you realize what you’re suggesting.”
Gabby turns her steady gaze to her mother. “I know exactly what I’m suggesting. Ari has a right to know.”
Arielle glances between the two of them. “A right to know what?” Do they know something about her mom? Surely, they wouldn’t keep something like that from her…
“If anything comes to light,” Aunt Shell rushes to assure. “You know how much Gabby values honesty.”
Gabby has gone back to breaking chunks off her bagel, avoiding both their gazes. “I most certainly do,” she says quietly.
Aunt Shell pushes Arielle’s bagel a little closer to her with an encouraging look. “Remember when the two of you tried to keep the mouse you caught as a pet?”
Arielle almost smiles at the memory. “When you caught Gabby sneaking cheese from the fridge, she just up and confessed.”
Gabby frowns. “I couldn’t think of any legit reason I had a pocketful of cheese, okay?”
“Like that you were hungry?” Arielle teases.
Aunt Shell raises her mug of coffee to her lips, smiling indulgently. “No mouse could’ve eaten that amount of cheese.”
Gabby picks up the newspaper again, rolling her eyes. She shakes it like a disgruntled old man as she disappears behind it. “We were going to have a cheese party.”
The tangled mess in Arielle’s gut loosens a little and she wonders if maybe she could fit in a little bagel. Except Gabby lifts the newspaper a little higher as she reads something. The headline facing Arielle grabs her attention and doesn’t let go.
Serial abductions of Mercy City moms have cops baffled.
Arielle’s heart jolts. “Gabby, can I see that newspaper?”
Gabby appears over the top of the pages. “Sure. Were you after the sports section or the crossword?”
“Just the back page, thanks,” says Arielle, finding it a little hard to breathe.
“No probs, bestie-cousin.”
Aunt Shell’s mug clatters back onto the table. “What is it, Ari?”
Gabby passes Arielle the page, shrugging nonchalantly at her mother. “Maybe there’s a recipe for raisin cinnamon bagels.”
Arielle takes it, eyes rapidly scanning the small black print. “Several women have been abducted across the city,” she reads beneath her breath. “There are no apparent links between the victims, apart from age. Each woman was thirty-eight years old.”
The same age as Arielle’s mother.
“Ari, I don’t think you should—”
But Arielle cuts off her aunt and continues. “Despite most of the brazen abductions occurring during daylight hours, very little forensic evidence has been found. Police are assuring the community they’re doing everything they can to identify the perpetrator and bring him or her to justice.” Arielle carefully places the newspaper back onto the table. She wants to read it over and over, glean every shred of information from it. She has to stop her hands from clenching and crushing it as she looks up at Gabby and Aunt Shell.
“Detective Kane didn’t mention this.”
“He most likely didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily,” Aunt Shell says soothingly. “Your mom is probably nothing more than a coincidence.”
Arielle lifts her left foot and points to a single, tiny, scribbled word on the side of her boot. “Hitsuzen,” she tells her aunt. “It means inevitably. Destiny. Fate as the driving force in this world.” Arielle puts her foot back down and looks at Gabby. “There’s no such thing as a coincidence.”
Something flares in her cousin’s hazel eyes. But before she can talk, Aunt Shell leans forward and places an imploring hand on the paper.
“Please Ari, don’t do anything rash.”
Before Arielle can answer, the doorbell rings. They all startle, looking at each other in question. When no one seems to know who it could be, Aunt Shell turns to Gabby. “Could you—”
But Gabby shakes her head as she holds up her hands. “Crumby fingers, sorry.”
Aunt Shell sighs and pushes up. “If it’s those girls selling cookies again, I’m most definitely saying no this time.”
The moment she’s gone, Gabby puts down her bagel. “So, what’s the plan?”
Arielle chews on her lip, wishing it was that simple. “First, there was the dream.” Arielle swallows, knowing she’s going to sound as crazy as she feels. “Then today, Trinity spoke to me.”
Gabby’s eyes widen. “Trinity’s back?”
Arielle fiddles with the edge of her paper napkin. Gabby is the only one who knows about Trinity. “It’s probably the stress of everything.” Her mouth twists. “Or I’m going crazy.”
Gabby’s hand reaches out and covers hers. “You’re not crazy, Ari.” She squeezes her hand. “Promise me you’ll follow your gut on this.”
But isn’t that what Trinity is? Her instinct? Her conscience?
Except Trinity told her not to call the cops on hot-angry guy. “Sometimes that seems to be two different things.”
Aunt Shell appears in the doorway, eyebrows raised. “We have a visitor.”
Arielle shoots to her feet. Maybe Detective Kane finally has some information. Something more than terrifying crime sprees across the city and dreams and voices in her head.
But the guy who steps from behind Aunt Shell isn’t the detective.
“Colt,” Gabby says in that breathless way she always uses for her boyfriend’s name.
He flicks his rich auburn hair out of his dark brooding eyes, the harsh edges of his face softening as his gaze devours her. “Hey.” He glances around the kitchen. “I thought I’d stop in and check if you needed anything.”
Arielle sits heavily back on the chair. She doesn’t answer, although one word flashes painfully through her.
Mom.
Gabby walks over to Colt, slipping her arms around his waist in the way she always seems to do when he’s near. “The police have been useless so far.”
“Gabby,” her mother admonishes. “They’re doing everything they can.”
Arielle glances at the newspaper. Are they?
Colt presses a kiss to Gabby’s blonde hair. “I’ll ask around.”
Gabby nods gratefully although Arielle isn’t sure how that’s going to help. Admittedly, reserved, quiet Colt is still a mystery to her. He appeared in Gabby’s life several months ago and has been a fixture since. Knowing she doesn’t have the headspace to figure it out, Arielle smiles her thanks.
Colt takes Gabby’s hand. “Can we talk for a sec?”
Gabby glances at Arielle then her mother. “Sure.
Aunt Shell watches them leave, her lips pursed. But when she turns back to Arielle, her soft smile is back. She sets about clearing the table, removing the half-eaten bagels, unfinished cups of coffee, and the newspaper.
Arielle’s hand shoots out to grab it back, but Aunt Shell is too quick. She tucks it under her arm. “Reading things like that is only going to worry you more,” she says gently.
“Gabby seems to think that there’s something I could do. Something I should be doing.”
Aunt Shell shakes her head. “Gabrielle also believes that no matter what, everything will work out okay.”
She’s right. Gabby has a deep-seated belief that good will prevail. That dawn will always follow the night, no matter how dark it is.
“It’s just that—”
Aunt Shell’s face tigh
tens with intensity. “Do you really think your mother would want you getting involved in...whatever this is? Or would she want to know you’re safe? That you’ll be here when she returns?”
The final question is like a slap. Arielle doesn’t want to make this worse.
“What do I do, Aunt Shell?” she whispers. “What if…”
Arielle can’t finish the sentence, but the words hiss through her mind, nonetheless. What if it’s too late?
Her aunt places a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I had a look around earlier today. The attic could use a clean.”
“You think I should clean the attic?” Arielle asks incredulously.
“I think you should keep busy. And this way, you’ll have a nice surprise for your mother when she returns.”
Arielle glances at the newspaper tucked under Aunt Shell’s arm. “I suppose so…”
For some reason, her next smile is almost relieved. “I know so.” She bustles over to the kitchen drawers and pulls out a few cloths. “Here, start with the dusting.”
Arielle takes them, feeling torn. She has no idea what the best thing to do is, and the two people whose opinions she trusts are giving her very different advice.
Aunt Shell’s eyes moisten. “A lot of your baby stuff is up there. It’ll make you feel closer to her.”
The promise that her mom won’t feel so far away has Arielle moving. With a quick kiss on Aunt Shell’s cheek, she rushes to the hallway. On the way, she passes Gabby and Colt in the living room. They’re holding hands, their voices lowered and their faces intense.
Gabby pulls away as she sees Arielle rush past. She calls out from the doorway. “Hey, I’ll be there in ten to help with the research, if you like.”
Arielle waves a hand over her shoulder, not bothering to stop. “I’m off to tidy the attic.”
“You’re what?”
But Gabby’s stomping footsteps don’t follow her. Instead, they sound like they’re heading to the kitchen. Arielle turns into the laundry, deciding her cousin and aunt can sort out whatever weird difference of opinion they seem to have going on. The thought of some peace and quiet in the attic is suddenly very appealing.
