Verum

by Courtney Cole

  His lip twitches again. “You said you didn’t want secrets. I figure some normal conversation will do you good. I didn’t used to be nice. But then you happened.”

  “And now?”

  “I’m still not nice, but I am with you.”

  “I miss you,” I whisper bluntly, because oh my God, I do. I miss everything about him. I miss his smell, I miss his arms, I miss the LIVE FREE tattooed on his back. I miss everything about him.

  With one deft movement, he dips his head and before I even know it, his mouth is on mine. His lips are firm yet soft, and he tastes like mint. I exhale into his mouth, almost a sigh, and he grips my back.

  And then very abruptly, he releases me.

  “I miss you, too.”

  I inhale a shaky breath, fighting the urge to lift my fingers to my mouth, to feel where his lips had just been.

  “Why did you do that?” I whisper, not complaining, but just so, so confused.

  There’s actually confusion in his eyes, too.

  “Because no matter what, I refuse to let you go.”

  And then he leaves me standing alone in the garden.

  Chapter 14

  I stay in the garden alone for the longest time.

  In fact, the afternoon has begun the slow turn into evening, the horizon red and orange and amber, before I finally head back to the house, my head somewhat clear and my heart light.

  My fingers trail over my lips, the memory of Dare’s kiss still fresh.

  The garden has washed away the heavy feeling that I normally carry, the foreboding and the fear. For right now, in this moment, when I think of Dare, all I think of is want.

  I want him.

  Regardless of the consequences.

  Whatever those consequences might be.

  The feeling is short-lived however.

  The strange man steps out ahead of me on the path, still wearing gray pants and a hoodie, his hood still pulled up tightly around his face.

  My breath flutters and I pause on the stones, part of me wanting to run, and part of me wanting to chase him.

  I must be crazy because I’m not afraid, even though I’m a woman out walking alone and he clearly shouldn’t be here.

  Something about him seems lonely and sad,

  And I can relate to that.

  Is he a groundskeeper son, maybe?

  He lingers on the path, waiting, and I sense that he wants me to follow.

  “Who are you?” I call, taking one step.

  He turns his face, slow…slow…slow…. and just when I think I’ll see it, I’ll see his face, he stops. His identity is just out of sight, just like he wants it to be.

  He wants to play a game.

  He turns, hurrying down the path.

  But when I fall behind, he waits.

  He wants me to follow him.

  He takes a step, and so do I. Then we take another, then another.

  I’m with a magnificent curiosity, bigger than I’ve ever felt, and I’m compelled to follow him even against my logical judgment, to play this game and see where it leads me.

  Mist floats across the path, hiding his legs, but then he’s inside the house, disappearing into hallways. I call out to him to stop, but he doesn’t.

  He turns down a hallway.

  I follow.

  He turns again, then again.

  Finally, he stands in front of Sabine’s bedroom door. He faces it, his forehead almost resting on the wood.

  And then just as I reach him, he’s gone.

  I stand bewildered and confused, alone in front of Sabine’s door.

  The man was as real as I am, but yet he’s just simply not here.

  I’m crazycrazycrazy.

  I take a deep breath, because one thing is sure in my crazy mind. Real or not real, he wanted to draw me to Sabine’s door.

  But why?

  I knock, intent on finding out.

  “Come in,” the old lady calls.

  I’m hesitant and scared. But my need to know outweighs my fear.

  I enter her living quarters to find Sabine hunched over a table. She’s concentrating, absorbed, something in her hands.

  Sabine straightens now, and I see what she’s holding.

  Tarot cards.

  “He won’t hurt you,” she says, unconcerned with my ire. “At least not right now. You’ll have to trust me on that.”

  She saw him, too?

  “I don’t trust you,” I reply. “I don’t know you.”

  My mother trusted her. And that’s the difference. She clucks, but doesn’t answer.

  “Who was he?” I ask, stepping further into the room.

  Sabine shakes her head and returns her attention to the cards on the table. “Youth is wasted on the young,” she declares before humming a tuneless song. She puts another card down, then another. “Use your instincts, girl. That’s what God gave them to you for.”

  My instincts aren’t talking at the moment and why am I not afraid?

  It doesn’t make any sense, and so I stare at the table.

  The tarot cards are gold, glittering in the dying light from the window. The figures on the cards are drawn in rich colors, dark reds and blues and greens. They look so mystic, so powerful and forbidden. In spite of everything, I’m intrigued.

  The card she’s holding is a knight, and he appears to be preparing to swallow a handful of swords. Sabine notices my gaze.

  “The Four of Swords,” she tells me without looking up. “He signifies rest after a period of struggle or stress or pain.”

  She lays another card down, half obscuring the Four of Swords. “This is the Six of Swords,” she explains, still not looking at me. “He symbolizes moving out of stormy waters into calmer ones. If someone has experienced hard times, this card means that things will very shortly be looking up for them, that harmony will soon be restored.”

  “Who’s cards are you reading?” I ask her, trying not to sound too interested. “Your own?”

  She shakes her head once. “Your brother’s.”

  I suck in a breath. “Finn’s?”

  She nods without answering, examining the array of cards in front of her.

  “He’s dead. What’s the point?”

  She ignores me, still examining the cards as if I hadn’t spoken.

  I wait patiently, counting my breaths, until she finally looks up.

  “Page of Cups. Water is your brother’s element. He’s got the vulnerability of a child, and he trusts like a child, as well. He’s good-hearted, thoughtful, kind. He’s also artistic and creative. He’s very intuitive, but criticism crushes him. He doesn’t have many friends, because he’s not understood well by others. Does this sound like him?”

  Only completely.

  I nod. “Yeah. A bit.” Sabine nods knowingly, and lays one last card down. She stares at it, then smiles.

  “These are good,” she tells me, seemingly satisfied. “I like these cards for your brother.”

  “But…he’s dead,” I tell her again, so so so confused. “He’s gone.”

  “Lord, child,” Sabine exclaims, shaking her old head. “Haven’t we already discussed this? Energy is never really gone.”

  “The energy here at Whitley scares me,” I tell her hesitantly. “It’s dark and there’s something here that I …”

  Sabine looks up, her eyes thoughtful. “That you what?”

  I look away. “I don’t know. I feel unnerved here. Unsettled.”

  “You were right to come here,” she finally answers. “It was the only way.”

  “The only way for what?”

  I think I’m afraid to know the answer.

  “You’ll have to answer that,” Sabine says sagely. “You’re the one who will know.”

  I once again feel like I’ve been dropped in a rabbit hole, and I’m not sure who is the crazy one, Sabine or me.

  Right now, though, my money is on Sabine.

  “Sit,” she tells me. “I’m going to read your cards.”

 
“That’s not necessary,” I tell her, backing away. “Really.”

  She stares at me wordlessly, until I finally sigh and sink to a seat in a chair in front of her. It might be a load of crap, but it won’t hurt anything.

  Probably.

  She shuffles the cards, then offers them to me. “Draw one.”

  I do, and she splits the deck where I touched.

  One by one, she methodically lays the cards out in a cross shape.

  “The Three of Swords,” she murmurs. “It means you’re separated from someone you love.”

  “My mom and Finn,” I nod. She clucks.

  “Yes. But you’re separated from someone else you love, and it’s a self-imposed separation. You didn’t have to do it, but you did anyway. Curious.”

  Dare. His loss is just as painful.

  She sticks her nose back in the cards.

  “The Six of Wands.” She glances up. “The fruits of your labor will pay off somehow. Your efforts will be successful.”

  “My efforts with what?”

  She doesn’t answer. She’s already on to the next card.

  “Hmm, interesting.” She peers at the card in her hand, then glances up at me. “The Nine of Cups. It’s sometimes referred to as the Wish card. Something you desire will bring you fulfillment.”

  “What do I desire?” I ask quietly. There’s one thing I desire more than anything, for Finn to still be alive. And her freaking cards can’t help with that.

  A small smile dances across her lips.

  “The cards don’t tell me that. That is for you to know.”

  She picks up the next card.

  “Ah, this one I would expect. The High Priestess. It symbolizes a duality of forces, the moon and stars. The High Priestess can access the psyche and the conscious, she can defy natural laws. But she also represents mystery and secrets.”

  “And what does that mean in English?” I ask dumbly.

  “It means that you and Finn are halves of a whole. It also means that you don’t know yourself yet, that you have many parts. The rest you must discover on your own.”

  I sigh.

  I feel her gaze on me. “This one is interesting. The Lovers.”

  My head snaps up. “And that one means?”

  Sabine looks back at the table. “It’s self-explanatory.”

  Heat flushes my cheeks and I drum my hand against my leg. “That one must be a mistake.”

  “I don’t make mistakes,” she answers. “Use care with him, child. He’s a good boy, but he’ll be your ruin.”

  A flash of white hot fire rages through my gut in surprise. He’ll be my ruin? How overly dramatic.

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” I deny, knowing full well who she means. She glances at me but for a second.

  “Of course you do,” she murmurs, but she doesn’t say anything more because her attention is already on to the last card, and I only get a brief glance at a black skull before she very quickly flips it over.

  “What was that?” I ask her curiously, but when I look at her expression, my stomach sinks. She looks positively stricken.

  “It’s nothing.”

  But it was very definitely something. The calm old woman is visibly shaken as she clears the cards and straightens them into a pile before putting them into a drawer.

  “Come back next week,” she suggests, her voice thin. “We’ll read them again, child. Your tarot can change.”

  She sounds almost hopeful that it will.

  Curious.

  I leave Sabine to her room, and return to my own. Booting up my laptop, I can’t help but do a search for tarot cards, so that I can find out what that last mysterious card meant.

  It’s only a matter of minutes before I find a similar card, a muted one with a dark skull in a black hood.

  My heart quickens when I read the meaning.

  It’s the Death card.

  Chapter 15

  There are a million clocks.

  They cover all the walls and they’re all tickingtickingtickingticking. I cover my ears and spin around, trying to get away from the ticking, trying to get away from all of the hands and minutes and seconds. But there aren’t any doors. There’s no way out. I don’t know where I am, I only know that time is my enemy and the clocks are taunting me.

  And then the clocks all turn into Dare’s face. His smile is mocking me, and it is replicated a million times, and then there is his voice.

  “Ask me, Calla Lily.”

  “I can’t,” I tell him. “I’m afraid.”

  “Don’t be afraid of me,” he answers. “I’m not the enemy. Time is.”

  “How do I get out?” I ask him, running from corner to corner.

  “You’re the only one who knows,” he laughs. “What a silly question.”

  His laughter echoes and I startle awake.

  It takes a minute to digest the dream, to come to terms with the fact that somehow, I was running from time.

  How strange.

  I can’t go back to sleep, so I get dressed early and head to the dining room for breakfast. I expect to find it empty, so I’m unpleasantly surprised to find Eleanor already there.

  She nods at me from the head of the table.

  “Good morning,” I tell her politely as I sit down.

  “Is it?” she butters her croissant. I’m not surprised. Honestly, I would expect nothing less from Eleanor than her questioning how good a day will be before it even happens yet.

  Before I can think of a good answer, Dare’s voice fills the room.

  “Good morning.” He’s got a baritone voice. I soak in it before I answer.

  “Is it?”

  I keep my voice droll, and Dare lifts an eyebrow as he sits across from me, in the place designated to him by Eleanor.

  “Maybe it will be,” he tells me. “Who knows?”

  When I look at him now, I don’t just see his chiseled jaw and handsome face. I see forbidden fruit. Someone I love, but someone I know I shouldn’t…for reasons unknown.

  That boy will be your ruin.

  Lord have mercy. I take a bite of fruit, trying not to dwell on how he’s been in my dreams lately. No one needs to know that but me.

  He sips at coffee and Eleanor surprises us by addressing him.

  “Have you been riding lately, Adair?”

  Dare slowly turns his gaze toward her, very obviously reluctant.

  “No, it’s never been my cup of tea. Why?”

  She stares down her nose disapprovingly at him.

  “Your mother liked for you to ride.”

  Dare swallows his coffee and fixes his dark gaze grimly on the Savage matriarch.

  “No, Richard liked for me to ride. My mother liked for us to please him.”

  He sounds disgusted by that, and by my uncle, too. It sends my thoughts spiraling. What exactly did Richard do to him?

  “Well, either way. I know that Calla doesn’t know how to ride, and I’d like for you to teach her. Educated young ladies should have that skill.”

  I practically swallow my grape whole.

  “That won’t be necessary,” I choke. “I don’t need to learn.”

  “Of course you do,” Eleanor counters, and I can see that there will be no arguing.

  She stands up and pushes her chair back, and the conversation is over. Clearly, I’ll learn to ride and Finn won’t, because that’s how Eleanor wants it.

  What Eleanor wants, Eleanor gets.

  This is something I’m learning hard and fast.

  Dare stares at me, humor on his lips and I can’t decide what he finds funny. That I have to spend time with him, or that I’m controlled by Eleanor, just like everyone else.

  “We might as well start this morning,” he offers, taking a bite of toast and jam. He inadvertently smears just a bit on his lip, and the tiniest part of me wants to wipe it off for him, but I resist, of course, because he’s an ass.

  “Fine,” I say instead, managing to sound bored and annoyed.


  Because I am.

  I won’t let him affect me. I won’t.

  It’s something I’m still repeating to myself as Dare helps me into the English saddle thirty minutes later. My butt is ungracefully shoved in his face and there’s nothing ladylike about me as I kerplunk into the saddle. There’s no saddle horn to grab so I’m unceremoniously awkward as I struggle to right myself.

  “The most important thing is to have balance,” Dare eyes me doubtfully as I sprawl on top of the massive animal. “Lightly squeeze the horse with your thighs. Pretend it’s me, Cal.”

  Heat flares through me and I look away, trying not to remember what it felt like to be with him, to have him hover above me in the night.

  My stomach flutters and Dare’s lip twitches, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

  “Keep the reins even, not too slack,” he continues. “Sit upright. Don’t be nervous, or your horse will feel it. Your horse’s name is Jupiter’s Many Moons. We call him Jupiter for obvious reasons. He’s tame and he won’t unseat you. Questions?”

  Dare doesn’t wait, he digs his heels into his horse’s sides and they take off at a brisk trot. Or what I think is called a trot.

  And I’m left in my version of hell.

  “I don’t like riding much!” I call to him, but he doesn’t answer. I have a view of his backside, and even though I’m annoyed, I have to marvel at how at home he seems in the saddle. He doesn’t look like a cowboy. He looks like a refined gentleman, like you could stick a polo stick in his hands and he’d be perfectly at home.

  He pauses his horse with a low whoa and turns to me.

  “To stop, pull back on the reins and say whoa.”

  “Got it.”

  I grip the reins tight. “Do you ever just wear t-shirts here, or do you always dress up?” Because he’s wearing a collared polo right now. And while he does look fantastic, I just wonder if he ever feels at home here, the way he seemed to back in Astoria.

  He smirks. “Eleanor would say that’s beneath us.”

  “But you don’t care what Eleanor thinks,” I point out. “That much is obvious.”

  “I’m here right now, aren’t I?” His dark eyebrow is raised, and even though I can’t argue, I wish I could. A part of me, deep down, wishes that he were here because he wanted to be.

  “You might not like riding, but you’re good at it.”