Ian leads me to the kitchen. Without all the tools cluttering its surface, the cracked linoleum counter looks worn and several years past replacing.
“Would you like something to drink?”
That’s his question? He doesn’t ask me about what happened, or talk about what’s going on out there? No, he just wants to see if I’m thirsty.
“Sure.”
Ian sets the teakettle on the stove. “Why is it that I’ve found you, once again, wandering about my property, apparently after enjoying another midnight swim?”
I look down at my wet clothes. “Why not? I love the water.” Well, not so much anymore.
He chuckles. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” Without waiting for an answer, Ian vanishes into another room and returns with a pair of jogging pants and a black T-shirt. “They may be a little big.” He tosses the clothes to me. “But at least they’re dry. I have a feeling you have a story to tell.”
“Um, thanks.” I scurry into the bathroom and quickly strip off my wet clothes and tug on the dry ones. He’s right, the shirt drapes around me, but it’s dry. I press the shirt to my face and breathe in the fresh scent of his clothes. Stop it, Austen. Yes, he’s pretty cute, but this is not the time to feel any sort of attraction to a guy. Look at what happened with Ezra. He abandoned you in the woods the first chance he got.
By the time I return to the kitchen, the kettle is whistling, and Ian grabs cups from the cupboard. After he pours the water over the tea bags, he says, “Feel better?”
“Much,” I say. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” He jerks his head at the wadded up ball of clothes in my free hand. “I’ll get you a bag for that.” He rummages under the sink until he finds a plastic bag.
When I reach to grab it, he wraps his hand around my arm, his touch electric. “What’s this?” He turns over my hand to inspect the angry rope burn around my wrist. “You’re hurt.” His touch draws fire from my skin.
I pull away, self-conscious under his scrutiny. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
“You should have told me you were injured.” He ducks into the bathroom and returns with a small first aid kit. “Sit down. Let me take a look at your wrists.” He gestures to sit at one of the wooden stools at the counter.
I eye the abrasions. “It’s nothing, honest.”
He gives me such a stern look that the rest of my argument dies in my throat, and I plop down on the stool.
He perches next to me and wets a piece of gauze with some peroxide. “This will sting a bit, but it will kill any of the nasty bacteria that you may have picked up from the other side.”
I hiss when he touches the gauze to my flesh, but I do my best not to flinch, mesmerized by the way his blunt, calloused hands skate across my flesh. My insides clench, and it has nothing to do with my injuries but everything to do with the man tending them.
“Thank you,” I say when he’s finished.
Ian winds strips of gauze around my wrists. When he finishes, he cups my hands in his, the warmth from his touch spreading up my arms. “You found the portal, didn’t you?” He says it casually, as if it’s an everyday occurrence for someone to stumble upon his little cave of horrors.
“I . . . I . . .”
He sighs, his gaze thoughtful as he studies my face. “You’re lucky, you know. It doesn’t always come back to the same place. You could have ended up anywhere.”
I close my eyes, imagining worse horrors than drunk pirates and monsters that slither and hiss in the darkness. “Well, I’m definitely not signing up for a return trip.”
Humor flashes across Ian’s face before he sobers. “Where did you go?”
Because I figure if he knows about the portal, he can handle everything, I start Ezra abandoning me in the forest.
“And you didn’t think that hearing the creature means you should stay away?”
“Phoebe said they caught the mountain lion that killed Frank, so I thought it was safe.” I leave out the part where Danny admitted they hadn’t, that would make me look even more stupid than I already feel.
“Phoebe lied.” The flat, emotionless tone of his voice startles me.
“Why would she do that?”
He shrugs. “She’s protective of this place, and of me. Danny knows what’s going on, but he won’t do anything directly against her.”
“Yeah,” I say, remembering what he told me. “He was right, wasn’t he? The creature is still out there.”
He nods. “That’s why it’s so dangerous for you to be out at night. Yes, it could be miles away, maybe even halfway across the state, but what if it’s not. One of the beauties of the portal is that the creatures that come through it tend to stick within a few miles of the opening. Perhaps it’s a territorial thing.”
I shudder, that deep, guttural growl echoing in my head. “Great.”
He prompts me to keep going so I explain finding the hole and following Ezra’s markers.
Ian swears softly under his breath. “I have the fence sectioned off, so in case a tree falls on it the whole barrier doesn’t go out, but none of the alarms went off.” He pulls an ancient laptop out from a drawer under the counter. “I better check.” He types in a few words before anger flashes across his face. “Nothing. Looks like your friend deactivated my alarm system, too.” He slams the computer shut. “Okay. First things first. What happened after you went through the portal?”
After I tell him about the pirates and the island, Ian shoves himself to his feet and paces the narrow kitchen. “Are you sure they were pirates?”
I nod.
“Describe the ship to me again.”
I do so.
“Do you remember what they said?” His eyes become feverish, his voice tense.
The captain hands me a glass of wine. “Potó,” I say, trying to mimic the accent. “I think it means—”
“Drink,” Ian whispers. The blood drains from his face, and he staggers against the counter. “He told you to drink,” he murmurs.
I chew on my lip. “I guess. I mean, it was pretty obvious, with the wine and all. Is that bad?”
Ian takes a sip of his tea, hand shaking. “No, it’s not, well, not specifically. It’s more so that I haven’t heard that language in such a long time. I never thought I’d hear it again.”
“Can you speak it?”
“Yes. It’s Greek, and an older dialect of that, as well.” Ian runs a hand through his hair. “English isn’t my first language, though by now I think I can speak it well enough.”
I tilt my head, considering his words. “So you’re from Greece?”
Ian’s smile vanishes, and his expression shutters. “How did you escape from the pirates?”
My spider senses tingle. He’s hiding something. I file that away to pursue later. The look in his eyes tells me he won’t be giving away any more secrets, at least not right now. Instead, I describe how I knocked the captain out and tied him up.
Ian laughs. “That’s brilliant.”
Unsure how to respond, I pick up my cup and take a sip. Just as I thought: tepid, foul-tasting water. I choke down the tea and describe my flight back to this side of the portal. “And then you found me.”
“And then I found you,” he muses.
His gaze burns into mine until I turn away. “Yep, that’s me. Just another day in the life of Austen Gillet.” My mom’s face swims into the forefront of my mind. Crap. She’s probably freaking out by now. I scan the room frantically looking for a clock. “Do you know what time it is?”
Ian consults a silver wristwatch. “2:36.”
“What day?”
“Thursday, June 18.”
“That’s impossible. I left on June 18.”
He shrugs. “Time works differently with anomalies like the portal. It’s completely possible to spend entire years on one side and come back five minutes after you left. There’s no explanation for it. None that I’ve found, anyway. Time can be a fickle lover. Take your friend Ezra, for example. He
could be gone for a hundred years, but to him it’s only been a day.”
“Do you think Ezra went through the portal?”
Ian’s gaze searches the darkness outside his window. “Where else would he have gone? You said the footprints only went one way.”
“Would you tell me if you saw him?”
A wounded expression crosses his face. “Of course. I have no reason to lie.”
“What about my dad. Have you seen him?”
He turns away, sorrow stiffening his spine. “No, I’m sorry. I haven’t seen anyone.” He casts a glance over his shoulder. “Except you, of course.”
“Do you think he went through the portal, too?” The thought chills me.
He shrugs. “Perhaps, but it’s unlikely. Present company excluded, most people don’t stumble upon the cave and decide to investigate.”
I step back to study my strange companion. His eyes are guarded, and his lips are set in a thin line. It certainly doesn’t look like he’s about to reveal anything else that’ll help me in my search.
“How is this even possible? Things like this”—I point out the window toward the cave—“don’t exist in real life.”
Ian arches his eyebrows. “You’ve been through the portal. You know it’s real.”
Even though everything he’s said is true, a part of my mind tries to deny it. Time traveling, portals, all of it is so out of my realm of experience that I’m on overload. I’m not quite sure how much more I can take before my brain explodes.
“Is that why you built the fence around this place? To keep monsters from getting out?” I know the answer, but for some reason I have to ask it anyway.
“Yes, but also to keep nosy townspeople from sneaking in. That’s why it extends so far into the water. If I built it on the shore, I run the risk of people getting too close.”
Like I did. My cheeks burn. “How long have you lived here?”
He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Over a hundred years, give or take.”
That’s impossible. “You mean your family has lived here over a hundred years, right?”
“Yes, yes, of course. That’s what I meant.” Without looking back, Ian walks through the living room and out onto the front steps. He sits down and steeples his fingers. I join him, so close our knees almost touch.
The water, a deep obsidian mirror, reflects a near perfect mirror image of the moon. If it weren’t for the waves lapping at the shore and the tiny occasional ripples from bugs dancing across the surface, I’d have a hard time knowing which way was up.
“It’s beautiful,” I murmur.
He nods. “Misery Bay is a remarkable place,” Ian says. “Of course, it wasn’t always called Misery Bay. Early explorers gave it that moniker because of all the tragedies that befell those who strayed too far into her watery embrace.”
“What was it originally called?” My voice, quiet and soft, whispers like the wind through the trees.
“I don’t remember the exact wording, but it translated to something like the forest of the damned.”
“Then why do you stay? You could go anywhere, do anything.”
An empty laugh escapes his throat. “Au contraire, Austen. I am imprisoned here as surely as the trees in the forest are rooted to the ground. The fence my family built contains more than the monsters you see.”
I scowl at him. “Then why don’t you shut it down? Close it somehow.”
He grimaces. “It’s not that easy, unfortunately. The portal itself is made of energy, and I’m not sure that much force can ever be completely tamed. It could possibly be moved, or shifted to another location with enough force, but then we’d have the same situation, only more dangerous. Then we wouldn’t have a fence to protect us.”
“Are you the only one out here?”
He nods.
“I don’t know how you do it. I’d have to have help. If there are more creatures like the one that attacked Frank, the truck driver, then I would need all the help I could get.”
Ian stares out into the darkness for so long I wonder if he heard me. “Yes. It’s better that way. There are a few others in town who know what’s going on, but I’m the only one who lives inside the barrier.”
“That’s awful.”
Ian remains silent for a few seconds. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to tell you a story.”
I shrug. “Okay, sure.”
“It’s relevant, I promise.” Ian stares at his interlaced fingers. “A long time ago, in a land far away, there was a king. He was greedy and cruel and many of his people called him a tyrant. One day, this king trapped an inventor named Daedalus and his son in a tower at the center of a vast maze because he believed Daedalus had betrayed him. He threatened to kill the old man’s son in front of him if he didn’t give him what he wanted.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “What’s this got to do with Misery Bay?”
Ian’s eyes meet mine, his expression bleak. “Just listen, please.”
“Okay.” This must be important to him; the least I can do is explain why.
“Daedalus was a brilliant inventor. He designed a way for them both to escape the labyrinth without alerting the guards.”
“How did they do that?”
“They flew, of course.” A wistful smile crosses Ian’s lips, so fleeting I almost miss it. “Daedalus spent months luring sea birds into the tower and then killing them. He hid their feathers under his mattress so that if the king came, he wouldn’t catch on to their plan. When he had enough feathers, the old man used extra wax from his candles to create these enormous, elaborate wings.” Ian pauses and takes a ragged breath. This story must mean something to him.
“One night, Daedalus decided they were ready. He fitted his son with a special harness sewn together with scraps gleaned from their own clothing. He attached the wings to the boy’s arms and showed him how they would fold with his joints and how he could use the wind to his advantage to gain height and conserve energy. The boy had looked forward to flying for so long he could barely contain his excitement. Right before they were to take off, the old man gave his son one last bit of advice.”
“What did he say?”
“Don’t fly too close to the sun. It’ll melt your wings. Unfortunately, the boy didn’t listen. He was so excited, so proud, that as soon as he leaped from the highest part of the tower, he flapped his wings as hard as he could until his father was only a speck circling below him. Fear and excitement and terror thrilled him, but he didn’t stop. No, he didn’t stop until he felt a burning sensation running down his back.”
“He flew too close to the sun, didn’t he?”
Ian nods.
“Then what happened?”
“He fell.”
Minutes stretch between us, and slowly the sounds of the night creatures creep closer. A breeze picks up, and I shiver. After a sideways glance, Ian shrugs off his jacket and drapes it around my shoulders. The scent of him, rich and dark and woodsy, fills my nose, and I can barely keep from burying my face in the collar.
I close my eyes, and Ezra’s face swims to the surface. I can’t be attracted to Ian. Ezra and I have a . . . a thing. Is that what it’s called? He left you out there in the woods with a monster. You could have died. But I didn’t, I argue back. I survived, and hopefully Ezra’s searching for his brother and not . . . No. Stop thinking like that.
An owl hoots in the distance, a loud trilling noise that startles me out of my inner thoughts. Ian stares out into the darkness, unmoving.
“What does your story have to do with everything that’s going on?”
Ian’s eyes, when he finally turns his gaze upon me, are as black and glassy as the bay itself. “We never know when we will have to say good-bye, so we should say what needs to be said beforehand, just in case it’s the last time.”
“Because sometimes you can’t help but fly too close to the sun.” The loss from Ian’s story reaches out to intertwine with mine. “You don’t think I’m ever going to see my dad o
r Ezra again, do you?”
“I don’t know, but if they went through the portal . . .” His voice trails off. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m certain they’re both fine.”
I can tell from his voice he doesn’t believe that. “You think they’re dead, but they’re not.” Panic grips me. Dad can’t be dead. He can’t. It’s not possible. He’ll come home soon. He has to.
Before Ian can answer me, the kitchen phone lets out a shrill ring. “I’m sorry, I have to get that.”
I follow him into the living room, and he picks up the old phone. My mind struggles to come to grips with everything I’ve learned. There can’t be a portal to another world. There must be a logical explanation for what happened to me: shared hallucination, too much stress, not enough sleep, something. You can’t lose time or gain time. The universe doesn’t work like that.
I trail my hand over the glass statue of the old man, watching the light from the fireplace glimmer through the glass locks of his hair. It’s not possible.
A quick glance into the kitchen confirms that Ian’s still on the phone. He runs his hand through his hair, a troubled frown on his face. What other secrets does he keep locked away?
Ezra. I’m sure Ian’s looked for him by now. I doubt he’d even bat an eye if he lied to me about finding him. I have to take advantage of the distraction and look around. This might be my last chance.
After another peek into the kitchen to make sure Ian’s still on the phone, I search the living room for any sign of Ezra or my father but find nothing. It’s not as if you’re going to find a neon sign. Look harder. I get to the hall closet and open the door, just as I hear Ian hang up the phone.
Heart pounding, I start to whip the door shut when something catches my attention. It’s a black backpack lumped between a pair of old rubber boots. A low buzzing fills my mind. The last time I saw that bag, it was slung over Ezra’s shoulder as he disappeared into the forest. Ezra was here. Ian had lied to me, and now I have proof.
When Darkness Falls Page 12
