by Rachel Jonas
A solemn look indicated the moment my question hit home. She stared off into the distance for a while and I wondered if she was beginning to understand my plight. Whether the last Liberator had taken one life or a thousand, it still mattered.
Blinking, her lips parted and I was all ears.
“When I was about eight, I had this super weird obsession with Legos,” she shared with a smile. “I swear I asked for new ones to add to my collection like, every week. It got so bad that, when my birthday and Christmas came around, Legos were the only thing on my list. I didn’t want anything else.”
Shoving both hands in my pockets, I watched the range of emotion cross her face. Her mouth was still curved into a smile, but the expression never quite reached her eyes.
“Well, one week, I decided to start building this huge, elaborate island. Right in the middle of my room. It was insane,” she chuckled. It faded almost as quickly as it came. “I sketched the whole thing out before I started building just to make sure I didn’t leave anything out. My dad used to keep tarp stored in the garage and, after going on and on about how it was the perfect shade of blue for the water around the island, he caved and let me take one of the smaller ones.”
A shimmer in the corner of her eye caught my attention. She was tearing up. Right away, I regretted saying whatever I said that made her decide to share this story. It sucked seeing people I cared about cry, but it would’ve been rude to interrupt.
“So, anyway, I got the tarp spread. It took me two whole weeks to build the island just right and all that was left was to add the finishing touch. A pirate ship,” she sighed. “I planned the whole thing out. All I needed was some sort of box to tape a sail to and I’d be done. And I knew just where to find one.”
When a tear moved down her cheek, she caught it with the sleeve of her shirt. The very next second, she sniffled and straightened her posture, pretending to be unaffected. But she was. Despite trying to play tough all the time, Roz was all heart and, at the moment, hers was exposed to me. I had a feeling she didn’t let that happen with just anyone.
“My dad kept one in the top of his closet,” she went on. “It was a pretty, tin box with bright blue and turquoise flowers painted over a yellow background. I thought about it while I ate lunch, planning how I’d get it without getting caught. So, as soon as he went out to cut the grass, I listened for the motor and then climbed up to that shelf and took the box.”
She wiped her eyes again.
“I emptied it. There were all these old, tattered pieces of paper inside and I walked the canister over to the kitchen trash and poured them right in,” she shared. “I didn’t even bother looking at them. At that moment, all I saw was my pirate ship. I went back to playing and it wasn’t until maybe three weeks later, a month maybe, that I even thought about the papers that’d been inside it. My dad came to my door and I remember staring, wondering why his face was so red.” She zoned out, imagining it.
“He asked if I’d seen the tin box he kept in the closet. Thinking nothing of it, I told him I had, and then pointed to the pirate ship I kept on my bookshelf. I knew right away something was wrong.
“I’ll never forget the look on his face when he asked what I’d done with the letters inside.” Her face went blank and she had my full attention when her eyes met mine. “They were from my mom. Love notes she’d written him every day for the first year of their marriage. Sometimes, she put them in his lunch, sometimes she’d leave them on the bathroom mirror, but they meant something to him. They were special, and they were all he had left of her, and … I threw them in the trash like they were nothing.”
“But you didn’t know.”
She shook her head. “You’re missing the point.”
I didn’t respond, just listened.
“I did a really, really terrible thing and, yeah, my dad could’ve held that against me for the rest of my life because he can never get those memories back. He could’ve decided my mistake justified his unforgiveness,” she added. “But he didn’t. Because I was eight and I’m not the same, thoughtless kid I was back then.” She met my gaze again. “What kind of hope would any of us have if people held us accountable today for mistakes we made a lifetime ago?”
The question rendered me silent and I guessed that was her point.
“So, I can admit I’d be a bit more emotionally involved if your grandfather had taken my dad,” she confessed, considering my earlier question. “But I can also say with no qualms that I don’t believe he was all bad. I don’t believe he was the same man when he died.” When I looked up, she said more. “He had a conscience. And monsters don’t feel.”
Snow fell steadily on the wrought-iron railing while we stood face-to-face.
“I’m not going anywhere, Nick,” she declared. “You wanna be alone for a while? Fine. I’ll sit in the study while you chill and get your head back in the game, but that’s as far as I’m going.” She stared with her usual defiance before going on. “Or … you can man up and come back in there with me to see if he wrote anything that might help us.”
My mouth was fixed to turn the offer down, but my mind had other plans. Hopefully, her bravery would rub off on me one day, because I was feeling anything but brave at the moment.
I caved, agreeing to continue, agreeing not to push her away. She smiled when it became clear she’d won. We moved back inside and settled at the desk again. This time, she brought her chair around and sat beside me. I opened the journal to where we left off and the name Reaper was mentioned several more times, bringing my blood to a boil. Liam had already given me a thousand reasons to hate him, but now he’d given me another.
There was no doubt in my mind he’d been responsible for my grandfather’s death. All the signs were there.
“Here,” Roz piped. She churned through the passages at light speed, meaning she kept getting to the interesting parts before I had the chance. Like now.
I shifted my eyes to where her finger stopped just beneath a word: Rings. They seemed to be mentioned in nearly all his later journals.
“Apparently, he hoped to use them as currency of some sort? Or, maybe he wanted to trade them for something?” Roz mumbled, trying to piece it all together.
She scanned a little further and gasped. I sped to the section that drew the reaction from her.
“He intended to use them as bargaining chips,” I read further.
“Whatever their significance, he thought Liam might accept them in exchange for something,” Roz added, skimming again. “He thought he … ”
Her words trailed off as we must have read the same line, leaving me to finish her sentence.
“He thought Liam would accept them in exchange for sparing our lives if he ever found out we existed. He thought it might save my family.”
Roz turned and stared. It struck me, the gravity of my grandfather’s quest for these seemingly insignificant pieces of jewelry. And now that I knew how he intended to use them, I wondered what significance they held for Liam.
Why did my grandfather think he’d see the value in them?
“I think we just discovered the reason your grandfather stayed away so much. I think he did it to keep Liam from discovering that he’d settled down, that there were people who meant something to him.”
“Also explains why he didn’t want my grandmother and father taking his last name.”
Roz nodded, but she was distracted from responding when a photograph slipped from between two pages and landed in her lap. She turned it over to read the back.
“And now we have a face to put to Opal’s name,” she said, examining it further.
I read on. “He had a theory.” One that made me sit straighter in my seat so I wouldn’t miss the details.
“Like?” Roz leaned to get a better view of the page.
I was dead set against getting my hopes up, but it couldn’t be helped. Not when the thing I wanted most might be attainable.
“Witches,” I began. “Apparently, he thought t
here was a way they could break the curse. He was in communication with the coven linked with our clan.”
“Does it say how it works? Or if they were successful?”
As badly as I wanted the answer to be yes, I was painfully aware of how close we were to the end of the journal. If there was a viable solution, I feared my grandfather’s life had been taken before he was able to write about it.
When I shook my head, Roz took a deep breath, placing her hand on mine as she let it out.
“Well at least we know where to turn. Before we leave Seaton Falls, we’ve gotta find a way to talk to the witches.”
I nodded in agreement, feeling a sharp burn in the center of my chest where anger and hatred seemed to always reside these days. They were like two-edges of the same dagger and, this time, the sensation had been brought on at the thought of one name.
Liam.
If he hadn’t been blinded by rage, if he had sense enough to see my grandfather was a changed man, I’d have someone to turn to for answers.
But I didn’t. There was only me, because that information died with my grandfather.
“Don’t sweat it,” Roz sighed.
The simplicity of the statement annoyed me beyond words. Maybe because this issue was consuming me and all I wanted was to fix it. To make it right. Maybe because I wished it was that uncomplicated.
“That’s easy for you to say, because it’s not your life,” I snapped.
Right away, I regretted it. She’d done nothing wrong, but frustration got the best of me so easily these days, causing me to think, say, and do things I normally wouldn’t. Seemed the littlest things set me off.
Before she could take my tone to heart, I attempted to apologize. “I’m sorry. I’m just—”
“I get it,” she cut in, “You’re stressed and confused and … scared,” she reasoned.
I nodded, acknowledging all those things were true to some extent.
“But …” The sound of her voice brought my eyes to her once more when she hesitated. “As a friend, I have to be straight with you.” Her eyes deadpanned to mine as she said her piece. “It’s getting old.”
My brow tensed and I wondered what that meant
She shot me a look. “Your ‘tude sucks. I let it slide a lot because I know you’re going through things and you haven’t been yourself, but … I’m not your punching bag, Nick.”
She was never one for mincing words, so it shouldn’t have surprised me that she put me in my place, but it did a little.
However, I knew she was absolutely right.
It was nothing personal. I was pretty sure I’d been short with everyone lately, but, because she was around the most, because I’d done a pretty decent job of distancing myself from everyone else, she caught the brunt of it.
“You’re right,” I admitted. “I’ll do better.”
Her lips pursed together as she read me, looking through me like only she could do.
“Apology accepted.” She didn’t dwell on it long, moving on right after. “Should I drive you home now? We can come back tomorrow and see what else there is.”
Stretching in my seat, I shook my head. “I know what my grandfather’s notes said—that I’m only a threat to Evie—but I don’t wanna take my chances. I’m hanging out here tonight, then I’ll slip back in the house before my parents get up.”
“Cool. Where can I sleep?” Roz asked, glancing from one corner of the room to the next, letting her eyes rest on the brown leather couch near the fireplace.
A laugh slipped out. “Uh … at home. In your bed. Where you belong,” was my answer. “Listen, contrary to how we started off, I’m not as ready for you to die as I was months ago,” I joked. “I know you don’t believe it’s possible and all, but I can’t, in good conscience, let you sleep here. What if I—”
“Snore? Talk in your sleep? … Fart … in your sleep?” she asked with a cheeky grin. “Because that’s about as scary as things are gonna get here tonight. You won’t hurt me, Nick.”
Shaking my head, I pushed again. “I’m not caving on this.”
“Neither am I,” she countered.
A stare down ensued, ending with Roz plopping down on the couch with an ‘I dare you to try to move me’ look on her face. It became abundantly clear that I’d lost.
“Blankets?” she asked.
Shaking my head, I stood from my seat and ventured upstairs to one of several spare rooms. Each had a couple blankets stored in the top of the closet. I grabbed a few and went back to the study where I found Roz attempting to light a fire in the fireplace. She’d taken one of the long matches from the box on top of the mantle and held it beneath the single log she’d placed on the rack.
“You’re gonna burn the place down,” I teased.
“Not if you help me,” she countered, tossing her long, dark hair over her shoulder. Her face had tinted red from frustration, I guessed. I stared while she continued to struggle with the match and, for the first time, I admitted that she was … pretty.
Before, I think there were too many things in the way, clouding my vision. Including the biggest distraction of them all, Evie. But our relationship was in the past and I wasn’t as preoccupied these days.
So, yeah … I saw Roz tonight.
Her dark eyes slipped toward mine and I looked away before she’d realize I was staring.
What the heck am I doing? She’s … a friend. Just a friend.
Clearing my throat, I focused on the fresh match she handed over and took a couple more logs from the cradle on the hearth.
“Let me show you how it’s done, woman.”
She laughed at the over-the-top display of machismo, which was the only reason I did it.
Despite being upset with me just a short time ago, the mood was already light again. She wasn’t one to hold a grudge and I admired that about her, but I sometimes wondered if she was only that way with me. We spent a lot of time together. Like, a lot. And it wasn’t lost on me that she could’ve found better things to do. She had friends at Seaton Prep, and yet, she’d chosen to help me work through my issues. Chose to make my quest her own.
Let’s just say I was beginning to see her differently than when we first started out.
We got a blaze going and while waiting for the study to warm, we toured the house—the two-story great room, the wine cellar, my grandmother’s sewing room. It took us nearly half an hour to do just a brief stop in each room. Making our way back, I turned out the lights, submerging us in darkness until we were back beside the fireplace. Roz settled in on the couch and I took the floor beside her. Sinking deeper beneath a thick, blue blanket, she stared at the ceiling.
“Life’s crazy,” she sighed. ”You couldn’t have paid me to believe friendship was in the cards for us.”
I laughed, remembering the earlier days very clearly—where we were at one another’s throats all the time. “And now here we are, digging into the past of an ancient lycan as a team.”
“Yup,” she replied. “Perfectly normal stuff. Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about it.”
It was funny, but this was our new normal.
“Is it weird that I kinda miss school? Not at Damascus. I’m talking about Seaton Prep. Regular school—the unspoken popularity contest, extra credit, science projects, and homecoming floats.” She smiled and it was dripping with nostalgia. “I mean, I know our high school experiences were vastly different—with me leaning more toward the socially challenged side, and you being … well … Prince Nick, but I still miss it.”
I hated that she made that distinction, alluding to the fact that I was somehow better than she was.
Or at least that I once thought I was better, which was never the case.
“We’re not that different.”
My words made her laugh. “Oh yeah? How many parties have you been invited to over the last twelve months?”
I gave it some thought and shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t keep count.”
“Now, as
k me,” she countered.
I humored her. “How many?”
“That would be a big fat goose egg, my friend. Nada. Zero.”
I was surprised to hear her laugh about it.
“Before I was ‘hired’ to chauffeur Beth around, the most exciting thing I did on weekends was stay up past midnight.” She smiled. “Until some random kid threw himself in front of a moving truck for me, that is.”
Our eyes locked at the mention of our first meeting. If you could even call it that.
“Yup, it took a near-death experience to make me realize I had no life. Although, Beth had basically been telling me that very thing for years.” Her tone was lighthearted, but I got the feeling she wasn’t as nonchalant about their relationship as she pretended to be.
“Have you two ever gotten along?”
Before answering, Roz sighed. “You’d think we would’ve been closer growing up—living in the same town, having only a year and a half between us—but that was just never the case. We’re polar opposites,” she shared. “And those differences always seemed to be just enough to keep us from being close.”
But it was more than just being distant. There was almost an underlying hatred between them. I wanted to press harder, but she asked a question before I got the chance.
“You get along with all your brothers?”
I nodded. “Mostly. When we were younger, we argued over normal things like cheating on video games or wearing each other’s clothes, but we’ve never had any real issues.” I chuckled, picturing my siblings. “Even with how different we all are, we managed to stay close.”
Roz was thoughtful for a moment and I expected she might say more about her situation with Beth, but instead, she changed the subject.
“Are you okay with everything? I mean, with what we discovered today?”
The details from the journal came rushing at me like a flood, the pieces of a puzzle I hadn’t expected to stumble across.
“Not exactly, but I will be.”
There was a long stretch of silence. During that time, I thought again about the many ways Liam affected my life. Before tonight, I hadn’t realized it reached beyond the thing with Evie. He’d taken the life of a relative, the grandfather I never got to meet, the one person who might have been able to tell me how the heck I’m supposed to control myself.
