by Kristy Tate
Old Dr. Harker had told them the infection in Lizbet’s lungs would soon clear completely. The racking fevers had already burned their course. He’d listened to her lungs with a cold stethoscope. “Breathe,” he’d say, “like you were going to yodel on a mountaintop.” Lizbet disliked yodeling and cold stethoscopes, but under the doctor’s care her health had improved, and breathing had become less labored. Dr. Harker had once been her mother’s doctor. He’d told stories of Daugherty’s childhood accidents.
Elizabeth poked her head into the room. “Declan’s here. Do you want me to tell him to come in?”
Lizbet put the laptop aside and uncurled from the chair. She felt slightly woozy when she stood and her legs wobbled, but she hadn’t seen Declan since the accident and she had a lot of questions for him.
And she was sure he had questions for her, too.
He leaned against the doorframe, backlit by the late afternoon sun, as handsome as anyone she’d ever seen. It struck her that a few weeks ago, she hadn’t seen very many people, but now as her world view grew and her circle of friends widened, she could say that Declan was the most handsome boy she’d ever met and she had met more than a few.
“Can we go for a walk or something?” Declan tucked his hands into his pockets, unsure.
She shot a quick glance at the swinging door that led to the kitchen before nodding. “Get my sweater out of the closet,” Lizbet whispered, “and I’ll see if I can find some shoes.”
Stepping over Tennyson, Lizbet found a pair of boots in the basket by the front door.
Declan pulled a nubby red sweater from the closet and showed it to her.
She nodded.
He wrapped it around her shoulders while Lizbet quietly opened the door. She breathed easier when they stepped out onto the porch and closed the door with a quiet click. Lizbet sagged against Declan with relief.
“I’m free,” Lizbet breathed.
He laughed without making a sound. “Hop on,” he whispered, motioning for her to climb on his back.
“Where are we going?” Lizbet asked.
“Does it matter?” he said.
With her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms circling his neck, they headed across the pasture. The horses nickered greetings.
“Declan,” Lizbet began, her mouth close to his ear. “Can you tell me what really happened to your stepfather?”
“Do you mean your father?”
A chill passed through Lizbet. “Do you really think...?”
“I don’t know.”
He set her down on the split-rail fence that separated the pasture from the woods. Lizbet shoved her hands into the sweater pockets, while Declan climbed up beside her.
“Isn’t it funny how you thought we were brother and sister only to find that we might actually be stepsiblings?” he asked.
“If I’m Godwin’s daughter—that’s not very funny. Any word on where he might be?”
He flushed and looked away. “Do you mean has he contacted my mother? No. I hope he never does.”
“She must be devastated.”
The red flush staining his neck crawled to his cheeks. “I don’t get her. How could she leave my dad for him?”
Lizbet didn’t know what to say, so she just took his hand. “Is it okay for stepsiblings to hold hands?”
He smirked. “We’ll always be connected now.”
“Oh.” Lizbet let that sink in. “That’s good. Right?”
He smiled. “That night on the boat, how did you know?”
“Know what?”
He jumped off the fence and came to stand in front of her. “Why did you go after Godwin’s yacht?”
“I just knew...”
“The voice in your head?”
“You could say that.” She cocked her head at him. “Do you still not believe?”
“I believe in some things.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Like nothing feels as good as this,” he said, lowering his lips to hers.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
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Mélange
Book Two in the Menagerie Series
Available now
On the sort of spring evening that lasts forever, when the sun’s fading into blackness stretches for hours, Declan tried to convince himself that time really could be harnessed, and the simple pleasure he found walking beside Lizbet, listening to her laugh, would last as long as they both lived. And yet his errand reminded him that bits and pieces of life could be fleeting, that nothing lasts forever, and things could change as quickly as the weather. But fortunately, at that moment, the finicky Pacific Northwest weather sported a few wispy clouds, a smattering of dim stars dotting the darkening sky, and the promise of a cool, clear night.
“Are you sure you want to wait?” Declan asked.
“What else am I going to do?” Lizbet asked. “Besides, hanging in a bookstore is one of my favorite things to do.”
“I feel weird having you walk me to my grandfather’s house.” He skated a glance at her, wondering what his grandfather would think of Lizbet’s curly hair, elfin features, tiny build, and bright green eyes. His mom called Lizbet a wild child, which was, given her strange upbringing, an apt description. “It’s supposed to go the other way, right?”
“What do you mean?” Lizbet turned to him.
He wanted to kiss her, but after a quick glance at his grandfather’s imposing brick mansion on the other side of the long stretch of lawn, he tucked his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out to her. “I’m the guy,” he said. “I’m supposed to walk you home.”
“But neither of us are going home. I’m going to the bookstore, and you’re stalling.”
“I’m not stalling.”
She placed her hands on his chest to keep him away. “Yes, you are. We’ve been walking down this street at turtle speed...”
He wrapped his hands around her wrists, holding her close. “He’s going to think I’m hitting him up for money.”
“Why do you think that?”
Declan sucked in a breath. “He’s going to ask about college. So, I’ll have to tell him about Duke, and that will lead to a conversation about money.”
“I’d rather talk about money than your stepfather.”
“True that.”
“But you’re not your stepfather, and you don’t have to talk about money. You can steer the conversation in any direction you wish.”
A rustling in the bushes caught and held Declan’s attention. The giant rhododendrons bordering the lawn shivered before falling still.
Lizbet followed his gaze, her expression curious and baffled.
“Probably a cat,” Declan said.
Lizbet shook herself and tucked her hands into her sweater pockets. “I don’t think so...it would have been a really big cat.”
“A dog then,” Declan said, dismissing it. “Are you going to be okay walking to the bookstore?”
Lizbet smirked. “I don’t know...this is a pretty sketchy neighborhood.” She waved at the turn of the last century mansions, the tree-lined street, and manicured lawns before taking his hand in hers and squeezing it. “This is the kind thing to do. Remember, this is for him, not you. I’ll be fine and so will you. And more importantly, so will your grandfather.”
But Declan knew that wasn’t true. The whole reason he stood on the street outside his grandfather’s house was because the old man wasn’t fine. His days were numbered. According to his nurse, Frank Forsythe only continued to live becaus
e he was too ornery to die.
“He scares me,” Declan admitted.
“I think you could take him on,” Lizbet said with a grin.
“Physically, but probably not intellectually.”
“If he tries to play chess, just run.” Lizbet put her hands on Declan’s shoulders and turned him so he faced the front gate.
“That would be cowardly...” Declan shuffled his feet.
Lizbet gave his back a gentle push.
The bushes shook again and this time Declan caught sight of an enormous gray tail beating the bright red flowers before disappearing into the shrubs. “That’s a huge dog.”
“I’m not scared of a dog,” Lizbet assured him.
“What if my grandfather gets to talking and I can’t get away before the bookstore closes. I can’t leave you here in the dark by yourself while a giant dog runs loose, terrorizing the neighborhood.” Declan balked at the black wrought iron gate that separated his grandfather’s house from the rest of the world.
“For one thing, no one is terrorized. And another, this is the Pacific Northwest. It’s June, the longest day of the year is only a few weeks away. We have another two hours, at least, of daylight. And if your grandfather gets extra chatty, I’ll take a bus home.” She reached around him and pushed open the gate. “Now, march up to that door and act chummy. He’s old, he’s sick, and he wants to meet you.”
Declan nodded and after a quick backward glance at Lizbet, the girl who had become the center of his world and his personal voice of reason in just a few weeks, he headed up the walkway.
#
As much as the bookstore tempted Lizbet, curiosity made her pause at the edge of Frank Forsythe’s property near the now-still rhododendrons. Cocking her head, she listened for the dog who belonged to the great furry tail she’d spotted earlier. She shot Declan a quick glance. He stood on the porch with his hands shoved into his pockets, his back to her.
“Hello?” Lizbet whispered into the bushes. Silence. She gazed up at the trees lining the property expecting to catch the attention of a squirrel or even a bird, but couldn’t find a creature in sight. A chill crawled down her back. “Hello?” she called a smidge louder.
The bushes rustled again and Lizbet searched for the cause. A rabbit, a chipmunk, even a skunk—there had to be an animal around. Why wasn’t anyone responding? She shot the house another glance, but Declan had disappeared from the porch.
She hadn’t heard the front door open, but that must have been what had happened. The nurse, Teddy, had been expecting him. Lizbet let out a little sigh of relief, pulled her sweater a bit tighter around her, and headed for the Blarney Bookstore.
The University District was an eclectic mix of shops catering to the UW’s students and the historic homes of the professors and Seattle’s business professionals. Lizbet’s sandals made a flopping sound as she walked and she told herself that the eerie echo wasn’t in any way sinister. But goosebumps rose on her skin as she scanned the yards, trees, and shrubbery for signs of life.
Where was everyone?
#
When only silence answered the door, Declan stepped off the porch to peek in the window. He’d never been inside his grandfather’s house so he didn’t know what to expect. The tapestry rugs, wingback chairs, and oil pastoral paintings didn’t surprise him. The overturned table, shattered vase, and strewn flowers across the wood floor did. He rapped on the window. Just like when he’d knocked on the door, no one answered.
He cast another glance at Lizbet. She stood at the intersection at the end of the street. Should he call out to her? What if someone had broken into his grandfather’s home? What if that someone was still in the house? The further away Lizbet was, the safer she was. Squaring his shoulders and refusing to jump to conclusions, Declan jogged toward the back of the house. A shoulder-high brick wall enclosed backyard. When he couldn’t find a gate, he scrambled over it and landed hard on his feet. His breath accelerated as he picked up his pace. A quick glance in the windows told him the living and dining room were both empty. A motion censored light flicked on when he reached the patio. Everything in the backyard screamed quiet and peaceful elegance. It was hard to imagine his grandfather had met any violence. The windows were intact, but the back door hung ajar.
Declan reached in his pocket and fingered his phone, debating on whether or not he should call the police. He poked his head through the door. The kitchen with its tall white cabinetry, scrubbed oak table, and gleaming stainless steel appliance looked like it belonged in a magazine. But a large butcher knife lay on the floor surrounded by a smattering of...what was that?
Declan pushed inside for a better look, then, with trembling fingers he called his mom.
#
Lizbet finally spotted an owl perched on the branches of a giant maple tree. It was early for an owl, but that was only one of things out of place on this strange night.
Lizbet glanced up and down the street, making sure that she and the owl were alone. “Where is everyone?” she asked.
The owl swiveled his head in her direction and blinked at her. “The wolves are back,” he said with a hoot as if this should answer all her questions.
“The wolves? In the University District?” Her mind tripped back to the large gray tail she’d spotted in Frank Forsythe’s rhododendron. Why would there be wolves close the city center? Wolves belonged in the woods or near pastures where the slow and easy prey lived.
The owl blinked again and nodded.
“All the animals have disappeared because of the wolves?” Lizbet pressed.
“I suggest you do the same.”
“Why are you here?”
“I am a sentinel. We owls have always been so.”
“Admirable,” Lizbet murmured. She pressed her mouth closed when an elderly couple walking a standard poodle appeared at the end of the street. She watched as the poodle sat down and refused to budge. The woman tugged on the leash and reprimanded the stubborn dog. After a moment, the man took possession of the leash, but the dog remained obstinate. The man pulled on the leash, but the poodle sat on his haunches while his collar threatened to pop off his furry head.
She turned back to the owl. “Do you know where the wolves are now?”
The owl lifted one wing and pointed at the Forsythe house.
Lizbet ran and her sandals slapped the sidewalk.
She stopped short when a giant gray wolf appeared on the sidewalk. “What...who are you?” She confronted the wolf.
He didn’t answer but stared at her with blazing yellow eyes.
It occurred to Lizbet that he was trying to scare her. She balled her fists and planted them on her hips. “Answer me!” She raised her voice and tried to infuse it with authority. “Who are you and what do you want?”
The creature flicked his tail before turning and sauntering into the dark night.
Lizbet went to the front porch and rapped on the door.
Declan answered, his face pale. Silently, he widened the door to let her in. “I thought you were the police.” His voice wavered.
“Why? What happened?”
Declan nodded over his shoulder. A newscaster’s voice floated through the open door and the light flickered from a TV screen.
Lizbet started for the room, but Declan put a warning hand on her arm stopping her. “Don’t,” he said.
“Why?”
“Well, for one thing, I vomited in there. And another...”
“Your grandfather?”
“And Teddy, his nurse.”
“Are they dead?” Lizbet whispered, although she didn’t know why.
“It’s...grizzly.”
Lizbet put her fingers to her lips, because she knew it wasn’t grizzly—not like a bear—but wolfish, like a giant gray wolf.
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