The Third Kiss

by Kat Colmer

  “Beth was waking up every night screaming for Mom, and I slept with the light on because, when it was dark, all I could see were the headlights of the SUV. We needed him, but he decided his grief was greater than ours. If that’s love, then I never want a part of it.” I tasted the burn of bile and swallowed again. The sting returned to my eyes, and my parents’ signatures blurred on the marriage certificate. Shit.

  Blinking back the memory, I glanced up and found Leo studying me.

  “Now it makes sense.”

  “What?” I wiped at my nose with the back of my hand.

  “Why you churn through all those girls, why you won’t let any of them close.”

  I shrugged. “I’m not letting some stupid romantic notion screw with my head.” I threw the wad of documents back in the box and pulled out a gold-framed wedding photo of my parents. More smiling, more touching, more bile in my throat.

  “So love’s a stupid notion to you?” Leo asked.

  I looked at my parents’ faces gazing at each other in their gilt frame. “Hell yes. Especially when it’s used as justification for selfish decisions.” Like ending your life because you’ve lost perspective, lost all control.

  Leo’s eyes skimmed the picture in my hands. “You know, some people would give anything to feel that depth of emotion.” He reached for that stupid ring sitting beneath his T-shirt.

  “Well, I’m not one of them.”

  Leo looked up at me. “No, I guess you’re not.” He rubbed his elbow on his thigh, then nodded at the document box. “So what’s with all this?”

  “I’m looking for proof.”

  Leo’s brows shot up. “Of love?”

  “No.” I snorted. Like I’d ever find that. “Of Love’s Mortal Coil.” I cringed; that sounded just as stupid. At the other end of the bed, Leo stilled. “I thought the professor guy you saw today said it was all nuts?”

  “He did.”

  Leo’s eyes narrowed, quietly assessing. “But?”

  I propped my parents and their gilt-framed love against my pillow. “Look, it’s stupid, I get it, but I can’t shake the feeling that I…I don’t know.”

  Leo arched a brow. “That you’re part of a line of people living out some sort of love curse?”

  I rubbed at the tight skin on the back of my neck. “What if it’s real?”

  Leo tried for a laugh but produced something resembling an asthmatic cough. “And you’re hoping to find proof here?” He waved his hand over the mess of photos and documents on my bed. “Dude, you’ve really got to lay off Stefan’s secret stash of vodka. That stuff’s messing with your head.”

  I shrugged. “Call this a process of elimination.” Logical and systematic. Cora must be rubbing off on me. I fished around inside the box only to find I’d gone through everything—and found nothing. Part of me was relieved. A different part nagged me to keep looking. I just didn’t know where.

  Collecting the photos off the bed, I put them back in their box. One last time, I glanced down at my parents, at their sickly sweet happiness, then turned the picture face down and went to put it in the box.

  It was my mother’s handwriting on the cardboard backing that caught my eye: With every sunrise I promise to cling to thee. All my love, always, Caroline.

  A sudden blood rush set my ears pounding, a frenetic whoosh whoosh whoosh of dread drowning out all other sound in the room. With unsteady fingers, I slid aside the clips that held the backing in place, then lifted the stiff card away.

  And with it any remaining doubts that ancient love curses were the stuff of myth.

  Unlike my letter, the parchment was yellowed, the delicate script dull with age, but the message was the same—and unmistakable: Love’s Mortal Coil was no joke.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cora

  “I’m going to be sore all over tomorrow.” Face contorted like she could already feel the pain, Beth made a show of rubbing her lower back before she sat down at our kitchen table.

  “Oh please! You did a few drills, then claimed you pulled something and sat the rest of the class out playing on your phone.” And she called me soft? Unbelievable.

  “Leave her alone and finish setting the table.” Dad’s voice was stern, but his lips twitched. He was cutting servings of freshly baked lasagna. My stomach gurgled in anticipation. Unlike Beth, I’d gone all out in class and had worked for my appetite.

  Dad placed three steaming plates on the table and turned to Beth as he sat down. “So how did she convince you to go?” He knew how much Beth hated the martial arts classes.

  “Dirty, filthy bribery.” She sent me a mutinous look across the table. “I had to do a class so she’d let me dress her for her hot date tomorrow night.”

  “For the last time, it’s not a date, and it’s definitely not hot.” I should’ve printed flyers so I could save my breath explaining the bleeding obvious. Markus was a nice guy, smart, easygoing, great green eyes. It’d all be a heap easier if I were interested. But I wasn’t.

  Maybe you would be if you stopped thinking about a certain pair of gray-blue eyes?

  My mouthful of lasagna lodged halfway down my throat. I gulped some water to wash it—as well as that stupid thought—down.

  “Date or no date, I’d like to meet this young gentleman.” The way Dad puckered his lips had me worried he’d do something seriously embarrassing.

  I served Beth a withering glare. “I’ll ask him in after the movie.”

  Dad nodded and returned to his meal.

  There was silence for about two mouthfuls before Dad piped up again. “Is this non-date, and this Markus, something I need to worry about while I’m away?”

  I choked on my lasagna again. “Dad! Seriously!” Barely a week back in the country, and he was giving me the “not under my roof while I’m gone” lecture? Beside me, Beth developed an all-consuming interest in a clump of ground beef on her plate. The Germans had a word for the emotion behind that expression on her face—schadenfreude, or deriving pleasure from other people’s discomfort. Well, she had her own discomfort coming her way, because first opportunity I got, I was cornering her about Leo.

  “I know your mother’s attitude is much more liberal where this is concerned, but—”

  “Dad!” My face burned. Someone kill me now! Beth snickered. I kicked her under the table.

  Dad stopped, but he wasn’t finished. “Maybe you should stay next door while I’m gone.”

  Ground beef-shuffling forgotten, Beth looked up. “That’s a fab idea, Mr. Hammond.”

  What am I? Twelve? Annoyed, I put my fork down and faced my father. “I’m not a child anymore. I turn eighteen in less than three weeks. I think I can be trusted not to do anything stupid while you’re away.” At least not with Markus.

  Several warring emotions flitted across Dad’s face as his instinct to protect went head-to-head with his desire not to stuff things up between us. I almost felt sorry for him.

  I sighed and threw him a lifeline. “How about Beth stays here for the week?”

  Beth beamed. “Even better.”

  The number of lines between Dad’s eyes hinted he wasn’t overly taken with my suggestion, but eventually he nodded. “I guess that’s a fair compromise. I’ll talk to Helena.”

  As soon as dinner was done and Dad had disappeared into his study, it was payback time.

  “So, what’s the story with you and Leo?”

  Beth dropped the lasagna pan into the dishwater too quickly, sloshing suds down the front of her dress. “There is no story.”

  She wouldn’t look at me, and her scrubbing speed slowed—a clear sign her brain had shifted into damage control gear. Seriously, nuns could have lied more convincingly. There so was a story.

  I stacked the plates in the dishwasher and regarded her. What was the best approach here? Sledgehammer-direct or feather-gentl
y? I decided on somewhere in between.

  “So why is it you’re constantly having a go at the guy even though you clearly enjoy his company?”

  “What? I put up with his company, and only because he’s Jonas’s friend. The guy grates on me.” She scrubbed faster, sending more suds down her front. “And don’t get me started on those nerdy T-shirts.”

  “I like the T-shirts.”

  “You would.”

  I fought a grin. “I’m confused. If you don’t like the T-shirts, why do you keep checking them—and him—out the way you do?”

  Beth stopped mid scrub and peered sideways at me. “I…well…despite the juvenile slogans, sometimes the graphics are kind of cool.”

  I crossed my arms and leaned against the kitchen bench. “Uh-huh”

  She gripped the edge of the basin. “Uh-huh what exactly?”

  “Uh-huh. I think you’re indulging in some self-denial exactly.”

  She flicked her hair over her shoulder and plunged her hands back into the suds, gaze conveniently breaking contact with mine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She started scrubbing again. That lasagna pan had never been so clean. Time for the sledgehammer approach.

  “You know full well what I’m talking about. You’re into Leo.”

  Beth forced a laugh. “That’s just…stupid.” There, refusing to look at me again.

  I closed the dishwasher and sidled up to her. “You like him, nerdy T-shirts, clumsiness, and all. Admit it.” I got a faceful of dishwater just as the doorbell rang.

  “This conversation isn’t over.” I grabbed a tea towel, dried the suds off my face, and went to answer the door.

  It was Jonas. Behind him stood a stonefaced Leo.

  “Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle,” Jonas said, like I was meant to understand what he was talking about.

  “What?”

  “Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle. You tried to explain it to me about six months ago. One of our chats. After you watched that science documentary.” He pushed past me into the hallway. Leo followed.

  “Yep, okay.” I remembered, but why bring it up now? He’d been bored brainless by my post-documentary rant that morning.

  “It implies we can never know the present state of the world in full detail, right?”

  Clearly some of my rant had stuck. “Kind of.” I closed the door. “If you’re talking about position and speed of microscopic particles in quantum mechanics.” And based on available evidence, I’d say he’d want to discuss that about as much as he’d want to borrow my biography of Richard Feynman.

  “Sure, but like every other scientifically challenged person, I’m talking about how even science says we can never be sure of everything.” His words were rushed, impatient, and still made no darn sense.

  I glanced at Leo for some help. None was forthcoming. “Your mouth is moving, but I’m not hearing you. Speak English, Jonas.”

  At that moment Beth walked into the hallway. She saw Jonas, looked at Leo, blushed, and avoided looking at me. “I thought we were going back to our place for a movie?”

  Jonas shook his head. “Not tonight.” He then strode into the family room at the back of the house. Leo trudged behind him, a silent shadow. Something wasn’t adding up here.

  “What’s all that about?” Beth asked.

  I shrugged. “No idea.” We exchanged a puzzled look and followed the guys down the hallway.

  Agitated, Jonas waved a hand at the couch. Beth and I sat. Leo didn’t. Hands in pockets, he hovered near the sliding doors leading out to the ink-black garden, his gloomy expression in stark contrast to his bright yellow Wizard of Oz T-shirt with its “There’s no place like 127.0.0.1” slogan.

  On the other side of the coffee table, Jonas reached into his back pocket and pulled out his Guardian letter. He handed it to me. “What do you see?”

  I scanned the parchment, the now-familiar handwritten script. My brows drew together. “Same thing I saw this morning in the professor’s office.”

  “Look closer.” Jonas’s lips compressed to the point where they almost disappeared.

  I cast my eyes over the delicate paper again, this time examining it with more care. It looked more tattered, but that wasn’t surprising; it had spent significant time in Jonas’s back pocket, with God only knew what else: loose change, shopping receipts, empty condom wrappers… My chest squeezed painfully at the last thought. Then something tripped my heart.

  “All three coils are there. There was only one this morning.” It had to be another trick. Reappearing ink. That was it. Someone wanted Jonas to think a third kiss had revealed potential for true love. Wait, a third kiss?

  My head snapped up.

  “No, I haven’t kissed anyone else,” Jonas said in answer to my unasked question.

  I released a breath, confused at the sudden relief that flooded me.

  Beth scooted in for a closer look. “That’s extremely freaky.”

  The intensity in Jonas’s eyes was sending ant armies crawling over my skin. “What are you trying to tell me here?”

  He ran a hand over his face. Suddenly he looked exhausted. Not in a physical, lack of sleep kind of way, but as though someone had turned his emotional tap on and just left it running.

  “I’m trying to tell you that maybe you’re wrong. Maybe there is ‘one ring’ to rule them all…” He reached behind him again, pulled something else out of his back pocket and held it out to me. “And an ancient evil dishing out love curses.”

  I stared, dumbstruck. Jonas held a letter identical to the one I had in my hand. The only difference—the absence of two coils on his parchment. I dropped my gaze to my copy. Now I could see it was older. The writing had faded with age, the paper fragile, with creases along the fold lines like deep furrows on a tired, weather-beaten face.

  I tried to swallow past the sudden dryness in my throat. “This isn’t your letter.”

  “It’s my father’s,” he whispered.

  Beth pulled the letter from my limp hand and examined it. “How do you know?”

  “It was in with Mom and Dad’s stuff,” Jonas said. “Inside this.” He produced an envelope, much like the one his Guardian letter had arrived in. Only this one showed the name Peter Leander on the front.

  “That doesn’t mean we’re dealing with something…supernatural,” I said, but unease tightened my insides. I looked over at Beth and searched her face for signs of skepticism. Her expression wasn’t encouraging.

  “Come on, Cora, even you’ve got to admit this is now way past normal.” Beth turned to Jonas. “So you really think this could be real? That Dad was one of these Eros…” She trailed off and stared at her brother for help.

  “Eros Guardians.” Jonas dropped the letter and envelope onto the coffee table. “Yeah, I’m starting to think he was.”

  “Which means you…” Beth’s voice held too much awe and not enough disbelief for my liking.

  “Yeah.” Jonas speared unsteady hands into his hair and tugged so hard I was certain I’d find chunks of it on the floor later. The unbelievable possibility of this situation had well and truly sucker punched him.

  Near the sliding doors, Leo shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He’d always kept a level head about this bizarre letter thing, but tonight his uncharacteristic silence quickly drowned any hope I had that he still believed this curse business was a load of nonsense.

  “Leo?” There was a hint of desperation in my question.

  He shook his head. “Give it up, Cora. This shit could be real.”

  I sucked in a breath. Those ant armies? Fire ants, and they had quickened their crawl. I fought for balance, but somehow Leo’s resigned conviction tipped me toward reluctant belief: this shit could be real. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the steady, and scientifically explainable, r
hythm of my heart.

  Oh God, can this shit be real?

  When I opened my eyes, I found Jonas staring at me. There was fear in his expression, and something else I couldn’t name.

  “So what now?” I tore my gaze from the intensity in his eyes and locked it on his letter lying on the coffee table.

  “Only one thing to do,” he said. “We go and see our friend, the professor.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jonas

  Kookaburras cackled into the first rays of morning when Leo’s Corolla pulled up behind me in the deserted university parking lot.

  Beth stepped out of my car and rubbed sleep-laden eyes. “He really said to come this early?” She slammed her car door, the sound a jarring boom in the early morning silence. I’d woken her before dawn. She hadn’t been pleased.

  “Yeah, he’s got a class first thing.” No point telling her I’d pushed for an early visit when I called Professor Scholler last night. I wanted answers, and after finding Dad’s letter, sleep wasn’t in the cards anyway.

  Unlike Beth, Cora was wide awake, although wrapped in wary tension. She met my gaze, nodded. “Okay, let’s do this,” she said and led the way up to the Quadrangle.

  Inside the building, the echo of our footsteps raced us up the stairs to the Department of Classics and Ancient History for the second time that week. Sushi guy wasn’t around at this hour of the morning but the professor was where he’d promised he’d be. Dressed in chinos and a crisply ironed polo shirt, the man looked like he was used to early morning starts. He glanced at me over the top of his wire-rimmed glasses, then at Cora, before registering two more faces behind us. “I see you’ve brought company.”

  “This here’s my sister, and my friend Leo,” I said. “They’ve all seen my father’s letter.”

  “Yes, your father’s letter. Interesting development, that.” Frowning, he stood and waved us into the room. “Can I see it?”

  I pulled the letter from my back pocket and passed it to him. He opened the envelope and rubbed the yellowed parchment between thumb and forefinger, testing it to make sure what he was seeing was real. “You said you found this among your father’s things?”