The Gilded Cuff

by Smith, Lauren

  There was a pause as her voice wavered and then she breathed out and spoke again. “What time should we be there?”

  “Seven.”

  “Seven it is. I can’t wait to see you, Emery,” she whispered, still sounding shaky, and the line disconnected.

  His throat tightened and he swallowed several times. Hearing his mother’s voice this time brought more comfort than the agony, but the pain didn’t fade. His need to be protected, to hide from everything he was afraid to lose, had already cost him his own family, what little he had in life. The last twenty-five years of his life had been wasted while he’d closeted himself away in this house. His parents had lost two children that night, not just one, and he’d brought that pain on them, not his kidnappers. The realization left a bitter taste in his mouth.

  “Who were you talking to?” Sophie’s voice drifted across the library.

  She was standing in the doorway, still wearing her exercise clothes marked with soot from the fire. Her eyes were wide, dark gray, like summer storm clouds with a hint of blue. They were eyes that saw too much, understood too much. He wanted them to see him. He didn’t want to use words if she could see the secrets he needed to set free.

  Moved by the need to hold her, he held out a hand. She hesitated, and then walked to him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she drew his face down to hers to kiss him. Surprised, it took him a moment to react, but then he banded his arms around her lower back to hold her close. She felt so right in his arms, as though some great force had made her for him.

  “Who was on the phone?” she asked again when they broke their mouths apart. She rested her hands on his shoulders, the touch light, yet still it made him fight repressed shivers of need for her.

  “My mother. I’ve invited my parents to dinner tonight.”

  Sophie’s brows winged up over her eyes. “They’re coming here? Tonight?” Her lashes fluttered and she licked her lips.

  “I want them to meet you. And I haven’t seen them in several months.”

  “Okay.” She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, still holding him.

  Secrets weighed him down, the past a thousand stones in his pockets, pulling him to the bottom of the lake. But if he told her, shared them, he wouldn’t have to keep them alone anymore. He curled his hands around her lower back and lifted her up. Her legs parted, going around his hips as he walked them over to a large couch by one of the windows.

  Emery toppled backward, letting her fall on top of him as he sprawled the length of the sofa. He cupped her face. Sunlight wove through the pale gold wisps of hair which had escaped her ponytail. She looked rumpled, wind tussled, alive. The women he’d been with before had never had a hair out of place, never had an ounce of sweat even in the midst of passion. Sophie was different. She lived in her body; she didn’t keep it pale and starved. She was real, and real was what he needed. The time for facades was over.

  “I’m going to tell you what happened.”

  The heat, which had lit her gray eyes with silver lightning, softened and her smile faded.

  “Oh…should we…er…move?” She gestured to their position, where she lay on top of him.

  “No. I like you right where you are. You keep me grounded and the nightmares away.”

  She relaxed into him and laid her head on his chest just below his chin. Emery curled his arms around her and took a deep breath as he readied himself to plunge into the turmoil of memories.

  “Three men came in through the back door leading to the kitchen.”

  “The door we came through after the fire today?” she asked.

  “Yes. One of the few blind spots for the cameras. Of course, back then we didn’t have cameras.” He rubbed one palm over her lower back, stroking her.

  “Tell me everything you can remember. Shut your eyes and picture it. Sometimes that helps.”

  He tensed, every muscle in his body instantly freezing. He didn’t want to relive the worst moment of his life, not so vividly. But he knew she was right. She had a point about it being easier to picture. Weren’t his nightmares always so real?

  “Okay…but…” he trailed off. What could he really say? Stop me if I start to panic or shush me if I cry like a child? No. He wasn’t a child any longer and he couldn’t show such a weakness.

  “I’ll be here with you. Every step of the way.” Her hands on his body tightened, the pressure comforting. She would be there, she’d pull him back from the brink of despair.

  Letting his lids close was one of the scariest things he did. But he had to. It was time to let the memories out, free them so they wouldn’t weigh him down a moment longer. Twenty-five years was long enough.

  He took a breath and began. “I spent the early evening catching fireflies. There were so many of them that summer…”

  Light.

  Darkness.

  Light.

  Darkness.

  Eight-year-old Emery Lockwood curled his hands around the thick glass jar, gaze fixed on the firefly that buzzed and bumped into the container’s sides. The bottom part of the insect’s body flashed a pale green and then went dark. The pulsing glow brightened then faded, surging back to life before dying again, like a phoenix from the ashes. It was easy to get lost in the rhythmic pattern of the firefly while the house was quiet and his room was dark. The aroma of fresh cut grass from the gardeners’ early work still lingered. The almost tangy scent of it was calming. The bedroom floor was littered with grass clippings from when he’d tracked them in on his shoes after a successful day of bug catching.

  He’d spent nearly an hour hunting down the brightest glowing firefly. He grinned.

  “Emery!” The whooping shout of his twin brother disturbed the quiet peace of their bedroom.

  With a heavy sigh, he pressed his nose against the cool glass of the jar. He wasn’t in any particular hurry to answer his brother’s shout. He’d much rather spend the evening watching his bug glow.

  A second shout echoed up the hall, accompanied by the sound of footsteps ricocheting off the wood floor outside the room.

  So much for being left alone to enjoy his firefly in peace.

  “What?” he hollered back.

  Fenn stomped into the room, hands on his hips, golden eyebrows slanted over hazel eyes, a nearly exact mirror to Emery’s.

  “Mom says to come down and get your dinner before the guests get here.”

  Emery set the jar down and rolled off his bed. “Why didn’t you just bring mine up here?”

  On nights when their parents didn’t host parties, the family ate in the dining room, but when their mother and father had guests over, they were allowed to eat up in their room.

  “Nana says we have to eat in the kitchen tonight,” Fenn said. “She said we made a mess last time and she doesn’t want to find a trail of ants leading to our room again. You were the one that spilled your Coke, not me.”

  Emery punched Fenn’s shoulder. Although younger by three minutes, he couldn’t let his brother boss him around. Fenn always thought he was in charge, and though Emery didn’t mind most of the time, an occasional punch to the shoulder reminded his brother that Fenn was not in charge of him.

  Fenn plopped down on Emery’s bed and cradled his chin in his palms. He prodded the firefly jar with an index finger, grinning as the bug’s tail lit up. “So, you coming down or what?”

  His brother’s smile was infectious. He had a way about him, and Emery couldn’t help but smile too.

  A flicker of movement outside their window caught Emery’s eye. Their room overlooked the thick army of stalwart oaks that bordered the property. Their sheltering darkness was penetrated only with a smattering of glowing, winking lights as fireflies wove through the trees. Emery was certain he had seen something aside from the lazy glow of the Chinese lanterns hanging on strings leading to the gardens.

  Drawn by his own curiosity, he leaned toward the window, placing his small hands against the glass, which was still warm from the long gone afternoon sun. His eyes
flitted across the bank of trees, looking for whatever he’d glimpsed moments before.

  A shape slithered out from behind the edge of the trees, the lights from the lawn just barely illuminating the outline of a terrifyingly tall man, clothed in black, with long limbs like a spider.

  Emery gasped, heart slamming violently against his ribs, as though Fenn had knocked the breath out of him with a baseball bat to the lungs.

  His twin sat up, hazel eyes suddenly alert, bright and wide with worry. “Emery?”

  Wordlessly, he raised a hand and pointed at the figure. Fenn turned, and in that second whatever Emery had seen was gone.

  “What?” Fenn scanned the trees, leaning on the window ledge.

  Goose bumps dotted his skin and infinitesimal shivers crawled like ants up to his neck and down his spine. “I saw something.”

  His brother rubbed palms over his own arms, as though plagued by the same sense of unease. They’d always shared feelings. Sometimes he was convinced they shared thoughts.

  “Should we tell Mom?” Fenn’s voice cracked as he whispered the question.

  Emery hastily shook his head. He didn’t want to look like a sissy. Their mom was great for rescuing them from some things. She could kill the nastiest spiders, and even got rid of icky girls at Fenn and Emery’s birthday parties when the frilly dressed little villains descended upon them during the cake eating. For that alone, she had his and Fenn’s undying loyalty, even if she was a grown-up and a girl.

  But she didn’t need to know he was scared by shadows in the woods.

  Fenn crossed his arms and his face settled into a stern expression, eyes narrowed. “You sure you don’t want to tell her?”

  “You kidding? I’m not messing their party up, no way.” He raised his chin. “Besides, I’m not scared of shadows.”

  “You were scared! I felt it!” Fenn accused.

  “Nuh uh!”

  Sometimes Fenn was such a blockhead.

  “Were too!” Fenn leapt from the bed and socked Emery.

  Retaliation was only natural. Mom always said, “Love thy brother,” which Emery now silently amended to “Punch thy brother,” and tackled his twin.

  They collapsed, kicking, pulling t-shirts, and laughing.

  “Emery! Fenn! Honestly!” A half-exasperated laugh froze them in mid-battle.

  The twins turned their heads to the doorway. Their mother stood there, wearing a pale blue gown with a skirt that billowed out like the petals of a flower. Her blond hair rippled in long waves down her back, like a mermaid come to life from the book of fairy tales Nana read to them.

  One pale brow was arched as she showed her disapproval. “You’re supposed to be eating dinner, boys.”

  Even though she tapped the toe of her silver shoe like an impatient princess, a smile hovered at the corners of her lips. Emery’s heartbeat jumped and twisted over and over, like a bird with a broken wing. More goosebumps pebbled his skin and a chill worked its way up his spine with the ghostly touch of spider legs.

  He needed to touch her, to be held by her. Pushing away from Fenn he ran the few short steps to his mother and hugged her. With a soft laugh of delight she returned the embrace.

  Her fingers threaded through his hair, the contact simple yet so full of love. He squeezed her tighter, desperate to hold onto her. Some primal instinct warned him things were on the verge of disaster. He rubbed his cheek against his mother’s silk dress before glancing at Fenn.

  Fenn was watching them, his body captured in the frame of the bedroom window. The forest below was lit up with Chinese lanterns as servants carried them out to the trees. The bobbing lights cast multicolored glows over where the shadow had once been. Rather than be reassured, Emery’s worry grew, gnawing at his stomach like a ravaging pack of wolves.

  “Mom?” Fenn opened his mouth, but Emery silenced him with a faint shake of his head.

  “Not now.” Emery mouthed. Even if he was worried, he didn’t want to ruin Mom’s party. Even though Fenn hadn’t seen the shadow, didn’t believe, he, as the eldest, often saw it as his duty to care for Emery. Emery hated that sometimes, but he wasn’t going to let Fenn’s sense of duty ruin the party.

  Fenn sighed.

  “Come here, Fenn.” Their mother held out an arm and Fenn joined in the embrace. Boys shouldn’t like hugging their mothers, but Emery didn’t care, not in that moment.

  “Now. Both of you, downstairs. Eat your dinner and be nice to Nana.”

  Mom shooed them down the spiral staircase. Emery raced Fenn into the large kitchen where a dark-haired woman a little older than their mother was setting out plates with sandwiches.

  Nana’s dark hair was pulled back in a loose bun. Wisps threaded with faint silver, like Christmas tinsel, hung loose against her cheeks. Her eyes were black, the irises so dark that they blended with her pupils. She always had a ready smile, one she kept just for them.

  Nana smoothed her hands over her pants and pointed to the barstools. “Sit, you two.”

  “Nana, can I have a Coke?” Fenn asked, crawling up the tall wooden stool to sit at the huge marble island. Emery joined him, so their elbows knocked together. On the verge of scuffling again, they shot each other mutinous looks and simultaneously balled their fists.

  “Emery,” Nana warned. She’d knocked their heads together more than once when they stepped out of line.

  His cheeks flushed with heat. “Sorry.”

  He and Fenn settled down to eat, sipped their sodas from the bottles and watched the guests pass by the kitchen windows. The Lockwood mansion’s kitchen had an ideal and rather unusual location in the house. One entire side of the kitchen had large windows that faced the gardens, giving the cooks something to watch when taking breaks between meals. There was one door that led directly outside to the gardens and it was on the left side of the room, near the walk-in pantry.

  Outside, strains of music filtered through the air, mixing with the cicada songs and cricket symphonies. Muted laughter warmed Emery’s ears with the pleasant melody of happiness. Dad. Something was making him laugh.

  Fenn’s eyes locked on the windows facing the gardens. “Nana, can we go outside? Puh-lease?”

  “No Fenn, sweetheart. You boys ought to be in bed. You have tennis lessons tomorrow at eight-thirty.” Nana ruffled a hand through Fenn’s golden hair. He wrinkled his nose and pulled free of her touch like a disgruntled puppy. Emery snickered at the expression on his brother’s face.

  Fenn narrowed his eyes and glared at Nana. “I’m not a sweetheart.” He used the imperious tone their father employed when answering his work phone in the study, sounding very stern, all businesslike and no nonsense.

  Nana only grinned. The laugh lines around her mouth and eyes crinkled.

  “So like your father. No wonder you drive your mother crazy.” She picked up the plates and set them in the sink before heading to the pantry. Fenn followed her, ready to argue his case.

  Emery turned his attention back to the windows facing the gardens. Women danced on the marble patio, their gowns swirling around their ankles in bright colors. Men in suits held them, spinning them around and around, in a whirling world of light and life.

  Suddenly the door leading in from the gardens opened and the only warning he had that something was wrong was Nana’s gasp and Fenn’s muffled cry. Emery turned just in time to see three men dressed in black and wearing masks enter the kitchen through the open doorway. The world around him came to a grinding halt. He was suspended in terror as he saw Nana rigid and scared. Fenn, eyes wide, was held prisoner by one of the men. The music from the party muted into near silence; the only sounds were the raging thunder of Emery’s heart and the scuffle of boots behind him. He tried to flee but a gloved hand clamped around his mouth, and an arm curled around his throat in a chokehold as he was hauled back into a huge body.

  “Please!” Nana was gasping. “Please don’t hurt them. They’re only children!”

  The man holding Emery swung around in the direction
of Nana’s voice. Emery glanced wildly about, seeing his brother being held by the scruff of his neck, a hand silencing him too. A third man strode toward Nana, a black gun in his hand.

  Cold black eyes, like onyx stones, fixed on Emery. The gun barrel pointed at him for a moment before the man turned back to Nana.

  He was going to hurt her. Bile rose in Emery’s throat and he swallowed it down. He had to do something, anything.

  An ancient instinct to survive surged through Emery. He clawed, hissed and fought like an angry bobcat. The arm around his neck tightened. Black spots grew in slow increments across his vision until he was on the edge of darkness. Aching pain swept through his arms and legs, then they went numb. Emery had no strength left to fight and only then did the hold on his neck ease. Glorious air flowed back into his lungs, and he gasped like a goldfish that’d accidentally leapt out of the bowl.

  “Why are you doing this? What do you want? Money?” Nana’s arms were raised up in surrender, but her gaze kept flashing to the boys, checking to see if they were all right.

  Emery wished he could tell her that he loved her too. But the hand around his mouth prevented any sound. Tears stung his eyes, and he blinked them away, his vision blurry.

  The armed man strode right up to Nana and without so much as a warning, struck her temple with the butt of his gun. She went down like a rock, blood splattering the white tile floor by her head. Emery’s throat burned as his strangled scream was silenced by the gloved hand.

  “Stupid bitch,” the man with the gun muttered. “Come on, we’ve got the brats. Let’s go.”

  He flicked the gun barrel toward the back door. Emery was lifted off the ground and held tight. Ahead of him he could see his brother was being carried the same way. They were halfway out the back door when Fenn somehow got loose and dropped to his feet. He scrambled backward and reached the knife block on the counter, pulling a blade out to swing at their attackers.