by Kelsey Vance
"Me? Not at all. I'm the picture of calm. This happens to me every day, the whole getting-trapped-in-an-alien-death-dome thing."
He laughs, showing two rows of straight white teeth and unusually long canines. I narrow my eyes, backing up a step.
"Scylla, was it? Like Scylla and Charybdis?" he asks.
I stare, shocked wordless.
"It's Greek mythology," he says. "They were two sea monsters, and Odysseus had to sail between them—"
"I know Scylla and Charybdis." I'm stunned that a beefsteak like you had the necessary grasp of Homer to make that reference. "I'm just surprised that you'd compare me to a six-headed sea monster."
He grins, his cheekbones reddening slightly. "Well, before she was a monster, Scylla was a gorgeous woman. Some jealous goddess turned her into a man-eating beast."
"Okay." I nod. Weirdo. "But it's Cilla, as in short for Priscilla."
"Well, Cilla, should we make my brother and sister sweat a little, or relieve their worries?"
"They need to know that you're all right."
"Okay, then." He jogs toward the house, the dog at his heels. "Come on."
I'm not used to running across lawns with clients. Usually I maintain a professional attitude and the gait to match. But this day is turning out to be anything but normal. Rolling my eyes, I run after him, thankful for my low heels.
Nali has disappeared from the front steps. The dog, Winchester, lies down in a strip of shade by the front door as we enter the house. Inside, the lights are on again, and the air conditioning is working.
"That's odd. A few minutes ago the electricity was out." I check my phone. Still no signal.
"We have a generator," Ryden says. "Guess it kicked in."
"Do you have a landline phone? We can call the authorities."
His eyes shift away from mine. "We have a landline to the kitchen. But let's wait for Oak and Dae before we call anyone, yeah?"
"Why?" I face him. "The authorities should know about this."
"We don't even know what this is." His fingers trace the edge of the console table by the door. "Could be a weird weather phenomenon, a government experiment, who knows?"
"We're adults, right? Why do we have to wait for your brother and sister to contact someone?" I'm not sure why I'm challenging him. I don't even know the guy. But it's oddly easy to slip into this rhythm with him, this push and pull.
I give myself a mental slap. Something is definitely wrong with me today.
He's watching me, a half-smile curving his full lips. "Come on, let's find my family."
He turns and ambles down the hall, hands stuffed so far into his pockets that they pull his shorts tight across his very shapely backside. My eyes skim from there to his slim waist, up his spine to that pair of broad, beautiful shoulders. I do love a good pair of shoulders.
"So you're a professional organizer?" His voice startles me.
"Yes. And you—what do you do, when you're not playing with pets?"
"I'm a conservation biologist at the zoo in Asheboro."
I did not expect that. "What does that involve?"
"I advise on the management of the collection and the acquisition of new animals, and I do some research and conservation projects. It's a mix of paperwork and action, so it suits me. I don't like being behind a desk all the time. You must know how that feels, yeah? You chose a job that keeps you desk-free."
Chose is a strong word. Someone with my unique talents doesn't have the luxury of multiple career paths. But I can't tell him about that, so I answer politely, "I do enjoy the work. I like things to be neat, clean, and organized."
He chuckles. "I can tell."
"What do you mean?"
"Just the way you put yourself together, the way you walk. Your hair. It's all very controlled."
"Thanks."
"It's not necessarily a compliment."
My face heats and I'm about to retort when he shoves open a pair of doors and steps back, waving me through into the immense room beyond. Here the furnishings are more modern, with crisp lines and bold colors, and there's a huge TV with all sorts of consoles and gadgets hooked up to it. A pool table stands to my right, with a ping-pong table beyond it. The low shelves to the far left are crammed with board games, console games, and movies.
Daera enters the room from the opposite side, with Oakland right behind her.
"There you are!" Daera crosses the room with quick steps and gathers Ryden in a hug. "We thought you might be dead!"
"Not a chance. I've got nine lives, remember?"
"Shh!" She smacks his arm.
"Where's your friend?" Oakland asks me.
"She was going to try to find a signal, to send a text to our—supervisors," I say.
"I'll go find her," says Daera, and disappears through another door.
"Has anyone tried going through the barrier?" asks Ryden.
I snort. "Bad idea. That thing screams electric death."
"Electric Death, huh? Great name for a band."
I ignore him, speaking straight to Oakland, who seems like the more mature one. "Let's try your landline phone."
The landline phone doesn't work, and despite repeated efforts from all of us, neither do the cellphones, or the cable TV, or the internet. Inside this dome, we're entirely cut off from the world.
"All we can do is wait," says Oakland. "I'm sorry that the two of you here are stuck in here with us."
"We may as well get some work done while we wait," Nali says. "Any objections?"
Daera's eyes narrow. "You ladies are taking this very well."
Nali's smile is thin and strained. "Not really. But the best way to keep myself calm is to work. Come on, Cilla."
"In a minute," I say. "You go ahead."
While the siblings talk in low tones, I slip out of the recreation room and exit by the front door again. The air under the dome still smells fresh, but there's an acrid heat to it the closer I get to the barrier.
Pausing a few feet from it, I lift my hands, feeling the prickle of energy across my palms. This is no sci-fi force field. It's magic.
Closing my eyes, I focus my own energy, pushing back against the force of the barrier. Maybe I can break through.
But I can't summon my usual physical magic. Gritting my teeth, I struggle to tap into the forces around me—the pull of gravity, the currents of the air, the surge of kinetic energy—but I can barely sense it. Something is blocking my power.
Fiercely I thrust the little energy I can summon toward the glimmering wall, trying to breach it. For a second I think I'm forming a slight dent—but the next instant the wall rebounds, a shockwave of power flinging me backward. I land hard on my back in the grass, my bones aching and my nerve endings singing with pain. I taste blood in my mouth.
For a moment I lie there, cursing this twisted day.
Someone leans over me—someone with golden-brown skin and a scruffy jaw and hazel eyes. I can smell him—a faint miasma of sweat twined with hints of cedar and vanilla. "What did you do, touch it?" he asks.
I tried to use my magic to break us out. "I wanted to see what would happen."
Ryden scoffs. "No more playing with the creepy force field, okay?" As he grips my hand and pulls me up, his bicep flexes—a mound of hard muscle that I'd love to touch. When I rise, our bodies are spare inches apart, and a delicious tingle travels over my skin. Instantly I back away, twisting my fingers out of his hand.
"I need to go help Nali." I return to the house, my steps controlled and even. If only my heart rate were as cooperative.
Nali and I spend the rest of the morning in the study, organizing the books and papers. Around twelve-thirty, Daera comes to the door, a glass of wine in her hand, her lashes drooping as she surveys our progress.
"Lunch is served," she says. "Oakland grilled some burgers—oh, wait. Do you—can you eat burgers?" she asks Nali.
I glance down, hiding a smile. Daera is actually being considerate, but of all the stereotypes surrounding
her heritage, this one annoys Nali the most.
"I'm Indian by blood, but I'm American by culture—and not religious at all." Nali's smile is completely fake. "I eat beef."
We eat in the kitchen, seated on stools along the massive island. Apparently, we're all pretending that nothing momentous and supernatural is happening, because other than a few tense looks, our clients keep the conversation light and banal.
My burger is juicy and delicious, but nearly raw in the center. I nibble at the edges, leaving the vibrant red middle alone.
Beside me, perched on his own stool, Ryden devours his own burger and eyes the core of mine. He leans over to me, so close that his breath moves my hair. "Are you going to eat that?"
"Help yourself." I lean back, and he reaches for the burger. He has long, strong fingers, a couple of thick veins running across the back of his hand under the brown skin. His nails are short and smooth. For a spare second, I imagine his hand on me.
And then he ruins the magic by noisily biting into the half-raw burger, smacking his lips and groaning with pleasure. "You do the best burgers, Oak," he says through the mouthful of meat.
I never knew it was possible to be disgusted and turned on at the same time. Turning away from Ryden, I lock eyes with Oakland. "What are we doing?" I ask. "We should be trying to get out of here, not sitting around eating burgers."
"Any ideas?" His green eyes challenge me.
I squirm. "No."
"Then all we can do is wait. Sooner or later someone will come by the house, see the problem, and get help."
"Is anyone scheduled to come by?"
"The estate agent is supposed to meet me here early next week, but other than that, no."
"So we could be trapped here for a few days?"
"There are worse places you could be," says Daera coolly, sipping her wine.
As I'm about to retort, the entire house shudders with sound—a thunderous male voice reverberating through the floors and shaking the dishes in the cabinets. It's like the booming tones of an announcer at a sports arena, ear-piercingly loud and seemingly coming from everywhere at once.
"Attention! Testing, testing, is this thing on?" A low chuckle follows the words, and I fight the urge to cover my ears.
Nali leaps from her stool, brown eyes wide with fear.
"Children of Kobe Ashton!" The voice is male, with a Tennessee twang that's oddly disconcerting, given our situation. "You find yourselves—stuck. And y'all will continue to be stuck until you deliver to me certain items that your father left behind. You may wanna write this down." The speaker pauses. "First, I need Volume Three of Mitsue Magic. Second, the collection of Taíno zemi statues. They hold powerful spirits and I want them. Third—and this one is so important I suggest you underline it, highlight it, draw little stars around it—thirdly, I want the Sedona Madstone. Don't tell me you can't find it. I know he kept it here, in this big ole lodge of yours. Get me everything on the list by sunset and leave the items by the dome, and we'll all be spared any further unpleasantness."
"Damn coward," growls Ryden. "Why didn't he ask us about the stuff face to face, like a normal person?"
"You're no doubt shouting and gesticulating right now," the booming voice drawls. "Unfortunately, this communication is a one-way thing. Obey my orders, and y'all won't be hurt. Refuse, and you'll have some nasty visitors this evening. They're a bit less logical and permissive than I am. Good luck to you."
Silence.
Oakland clears his throat. "We owe the two of you an explanation," he says, glancing from me to Nali. "Our father was a bit of an eccentric—a collector of sorts. Some valuables, yes, but also other trinkets, believed to possess special powers."
"Powers?" Nali's derisive tone is Oscar-worthy. "Like, magical powers?"
"I know it sounds ridiculous." Oak looks down at his plate. "But you've seen what's outside. Surely that's proof enough."
"Proof of magic? Oh my god. You people are cracked." Nali rises, throwing her napkin on the counter. "Come on, Cilla, let's get back to work and leave them to their—magic."
I hop down and follow her out into the hallway. "You might be over-acting this a little bit," I whisper. "What happens if they find out who we are?"
"They won't. No one knows, not even that over-amped bastard holding us hostage, or he'd have mentioned us." Her small hands are clenched tight. "But Cilla, we've got to let our people know that there's another interested party here. That they're interfering with our mission."
"And how do you suggest we do that? I've tried breaking through—I can't. What about you? Can you summon anyone, anything?"
"Commune with a spirit, here? With all of them liable to walk in at any moment? No. Besides, my magic is barely functional right now. I'd need to use a circle to boost it."
"You could use one of the bathrooms to set up the circle. Pretend your stomach is upset from all the undercooked beef. It's not too much of a stretch."
She sighs, ruffling her short dark hair with her fingers. "Fine, but I'll need supplies."
"I'll find the pantry and get you some things. And I saw candles in the dining room, on the sideboard." I reach out, taking her hand. "Relax, girl. The Patronage will understand that this delay isn't our fault."
"Will they?" She bites off the words, tension in every line of her face.
An answering pang of fear lurches through my stomach. "They have to."
-3-
Latch
Nali and I wait to enact our plan until the three siblings have left the kitchen and scattered through the house, probably to hunt for the magical items that the disembodied voice demanded. Nali hurries off to the dining room to collect the candles, and I slip into the empty kitchen to find herbs or oils to boost her powers.
It's cool and shadowed in here, the only light tinted lavender from the magical barrier beyond the windows. I run my hands over the swirled granite countertops, the gleaming stainless steel appliances, the rim of the glossy white farmhouse sink. Just the sort of kitchen I want someday, when I'm done sharing a loft apartment with Nali and I buy a house of my own. If I work for the Patronage long enough and save carefully, it could happen.
Beyond the refrigerator is a pair of folding doors, and when I open them, I gasp. Nali and I have entered dozens of homes under various pretenses, usually as professional organizers—but never have I seen a pantry as immense as this one. Our entire apartment could probably fit in here.
I open my purse and scour the shelves, dropping in a jar of spices here, a canister of dried herbs there. Then my eyes fix on a basket stocked with essential oils, and I coo with excitement. Jackpot! I rise to reach them, teetering on tiptoe—and then a pair of warm hands slide around my waist, and I gasp.
"Steady," says Ryden's voice. "Need me to get that for you?"
I rock back on my heels, my butt bumping softly against the front of his pants. I spring away, crashing into the nearest shelf.
"Easy, girl! Gosh, you're jumpy." He reaches for the basket, retrieving it easily. He's got to be over six feet tall, by at least an inch or two. "May I ask why you're stealing Daera's precious essential oils?"
"I—I was going to ask first," I stammer. "Nali isn't feeling well, because of the beef, or the stress—I'm not sure which—but I was trying to find something to help her."
"Ever heard of antacids? Painkillers?"
"She's kind of an all-natural girl."
"Hm." He cocks his head, the overhead light glowing on the planes of his forehead and his cheekbones. "And what kind of girl are you?"
"May I borrow some of these, or not?"
"I think payment is in order." He lounges against the opposite shelves, grinning.
"I don't usually carry much cash, but—" I begin rummaging through my purse, hunting for my wallet.
He lays a hand over mine. "Not that kind of payment."
I yank the purse away, afraid he'll glimpse the other items I stole. And then the meaning of his words sinks in. "If you expect me to get on my kne
es and service you, you're going to be massively disappointed."
"Service—what? God, no." He flushes. "Why would you think—damn, girl! I was going for a kiss. Forget it."
He pushes himself away from the shelves and stalks out of the pantry. Apparently I offended him. I feel a little ashamed for assuming that he wanted me to get him off—but I was only operating from unfortunate past experience. In college, I used to get offers like that all the time, usually accompanied by slack leers and gyrating hips.
Even now, in my current line of work, most of the men I know enjoy asserting themselves over-enthusiastically, mostly to hide the fact that they'd rather be inserting themselves. They're basically cavemen, with a thin layer of civilized politeness over their baser urges. Not all of them are like that—but as Nali says, the ones who are decent are usually taken.
Ryden probably has a girlfriend. No chance that a guy as hot and rich as him is still available. In which case, he's also a cheater for trying to get a kiss out of me.
I hurry upstairs. I'm not sure when Nali had the chance to explore the second floor, but her haphazard directions leave something to be desired. "The bathroom at the back of the third suite," she told me. Now I'm realizing that she didn't tell me which way to turn at the top of the steps—or what, in her mind, constitutes a "suite."
I go left and pad quietly along the thickly carpeted length of the hallway. One, two, three doors—I tap lightly on the third door before turning the handle.
The moment I step inside, it's clear that this isn't the room Nali meant. The place is obviously being occupied. A backpack and a duffel bag lie open—T-shirts, socks, and underwear overflowing onto the floor. A pair of enormous shoes sits at the end of the bed, one upright and the other sideways, a dribble of dirt sifted onto the carpet from its well-worn tread.
The blankets on the bed are mussed and crumpled, and there's something on the white sheets—I step closer, curious. It's—hair. Cat hair, I think—no, it's too long. Must be dog hair. It's not Winchester's hair, though—it's black, not golden.
I back up, still eyeing the bed, and I reach for the door handle. And my hand touches something that most definitely isn't a door handle. It's the zipper of someone's jeans. I whirl, coming face to face with Ryden. His hazel eyes hold a mixture of confusion, anger, and—something else.
