Belmary House 6

by Cassidy Cayman

  “But you still have to go. I’m sorry but don’t you understand what just happened? The entire village wants you to go.” He lowered his voice, not wanting to bring up the fact that she’d tried to kill two of them with a mere glance. If she was aware she’d done such a thing it didn’t look like it bit at her conscience very much. “They’re scared of you.” And rightly so, he added silently.

  “I came for you,” she said, an edge of stubborness to her voice. He perked up. It was the first bit of emotion she’d shown. “You’re the reason I’m here. Because you called me.”

  He wilted again. “I called you?” he asked, fighting the creeping fear.

  She nodded. “Me.”

  “I called you? Do you mean when Maria was … ill? In London?”

  “Maria died,” she said abruptly.

  Specks of light danced before his eyes and he struggled to stay standing. He sat down hard, the pain to his tailbone bringing him back before he could slip into sweet unconsciousness. He thought he wanted answers but now he knew he didn’t. But they kept coming.

  “And you called me,” she continued. “I brought her back. I came for you so I’ll stay with you.” She frowned and wrinkled her brow. “I have nowhere else to go.”

  “Go home, Maria,” he urged.

  She only smiled at him and turned toward the creek. He couldn’t bear to watch her plunge herself into the water and then tear into a raw fish so he turned his back on her in despair. If he could find out how to fix what he’d done… but first he had to find out what he’d done. There was no helping Maria until he gained the knowledge he needed. And yet he couldn’t leave her to fend for herself.

  As if she needs me to defend her. He picked his way through the forest, certain an arrow would pierce through him with every step. Sneaking back into Sorin’s small bachelor cottage, he angrily stuffed the few bits of clothing he had into a vegetable sack.

  “I’ll keep you hidden until the healer figures out what you did to Latham,” Sorin said. “He’s alive, that’s something. You should stay and learn about your gift. It’s only her they want gone.”

  “Not according to that old councilman,” Owen snapped. “And it’s not a gift, it’s a curse. After what happened I’m surprised there aren’t any torches and pitchforks.”

  “Don’t let it come to that, Owen,” his cousin warned seriously. “The people here have their reasons for being fearful. You can never imagine how we used to live.”

  “But you’re strong. Why can’t anyone fix her? Everyone here is supposedly so strong.”

  Sorin shook his head. “And not a single one of us understands what you did to— what happened to Maria. Most of us don’t want to risk finding out. I’d like you to stay, but I have to stand with the majority. She has to go. Especially after that show of violence. What you did can be explained by your ignorance of your powers, but since we don’t understand Maria’s… condition… we have to assume malice on her part.”

  Sorin rubbed at his throat reproachfully where Maria’s spells had strangled him. Owen narrowed his eyes at the silent jab at his conscience. He supposed his cousin didn’t think he already felt guilty enough.

  “Well, she won’t go without me, so it was nice getting to know you.”

  Owen waited, hoping Sorin would change his mind and call a new tribunal, beg him to stay, anything. He only sighed deeply.

  “I wish things had been different.” He rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a leather pouch. “It’s not much, but it should get you a fair distance without having to walk.”

  Owen’s pride boiled within and he almost refused the money. But after three days in the village the soles of his feet still ached from all the walking he’d done to get there. Between that and Maria’s stash, he might not have to hide in the storage hold for the passage back to England. He took the pouch and nodded his thanks.

  “I hope to see you again one day. Under better circumstances,” he said. It was a lie. He really had no hope at all.

  Marching down to the creek, he called for Maria to hurry up. She smiled at him and thankfully it was a little less wolfish. Or perhaps he was getting used to her brittle facial movements.

  “Leave it,” he said when she leaned over to pick up the day’s fresh catch. “We can buy less smelly food.”

  They traipsed silently through the forest, having to work back toward the main gates to get on the road. He was afraid a group of armed men would be on the lookout for them, maybe to hurry them on their way with arrows or worse, seek retribution for what had happened, but when they burst from the trees only a few yards from the gates, there was only the young mother who’d stood up for Maria at the tribunal. She hurried from her spot under a shady tree and handed him a bag filled with bread, cheese and dried meats, and a blanket. Her face was puffy and tear streaked.

  “It’s the best I could come up with,” she said apologetically. “But please take it. I’m sorry I couldn’t convince them to let you stay. I’m sure wh-what happened was a mistake. Just a mistake. It looks as if Agathe and Latham will recover, at any rate.” She nervously tried to make eye contact with Maria, even going so far as to swivel her head to the side, but Maria gazed fixedly past her.

  “Do you know that for certain?” he asked, looking around. He didn’t want to get hit by any more rocks. It looked like everyone was locked up tight in their homes, shutters closed and locked until the evil was well outside their walls.

  She swallowed hard. “They’re both alive. Latham spoke and it seems he’s himself.” Another nervous glance at Maria. He hadn’t turned the villager into whatever Maria was, at least.

  “I didn’t mean anything,” he said. “I came here to…” he trailed off at her uncomfortable twitching. He couldn’t admit outright he had no control over himself. It was too humiliating.

  “Well, safe travels to you.”

  “Thank you,” Owen said, taking the gift. “It was kind of you to stand against everyone like that. I wish I could have been worthy of it.”

  “I can’t imagine never having learned,” she said kindly. “My name’s Lola, by the way.”

  “That’s a very pretty name,” Owen said.

  She gave him a watery smile. “My son who made such a fuss today is Max.”

  Maria tsked and walked away, carrying on down the road at a fast clip. If he didn’t hurry she’d be out of his sight in no time.

  “Well, thank you again,” Owen said. “Perhaps I’ll be back.”

  “Be careful,” she called after him.

  When he caught up with Maria, he berated her for her rudeness. “She was trying to be nice. She wanted you to be able to stay. Which is a miracle after what you did.”

  “She thinks you’re handsome. She wanted you to be able to stay, not me.”

  “What nonsense. She’s got a baby.”

  “But no husband.”

  “How do you know all this, never talking to anyone and lolling about at the creek all the time you’ve been here?”

  She glanced at him sideways. “I know.”

  He grunted with frustration. “God, Maria. It’s no wonder they didn’t want you there. You can be awfully creepy.”

  “Why do you keep calling me Maria when you know I’m not her? And the reason they didn’t want me there is because they didn’t understand me.”

  She was the chattiest she’d been and as much as he hated her distant silences he wasn’t sure he liked this any better. “You should have let them understand you, then,” he exploded. “We could still be there and I could figure out how to help you. Help Maria. And I don’t know what to call you because you haven’t told me. You haven’t told me anything.”

  She stared at him for a long time as they hurried away from the Povest village. He was getting winded but didn’t want to admit he couldn’t keep up with a dead girl. God, no. Why did he think of that? Overcome with dizziness, he stopped and put his hands on his knees, surprised she stopped to wait for him.

  “I can tell you more now we’
re away from them. It was terribly hard work keeping my secret. They’re an awfully nosy lot. And they wouldn’t have helped me, they would have got rid of me. And she’s not ready yet.”

  She waved her hand around her middle. He hoped she was indicating Maria somehow still being in there. Her soul, her mind, her memories. He prayed everything about her would be all right.

  “She’s still there, then?” he asked, standing upright. She only stared at him. “Fine. At least tell me what to call you.”

  She stared even longer at him, finally looking down at the ground. “I— I don’t remember,” she said in a small voice. “It was pretty, though. Prettier than Maria or Lola. At least I think it was. I can almost picture it.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. Just call me whatever you like, I suppose. I’ll know if you’re addressing me.”

  He would have groused about that but they were back to their rapid pace and he didn’t want to spare the energy. “We need to get back to London,” he told her. “Your parents are probably scouring all of England for you.”

  “I told you they’re not. They know I’m all right.” She paused in her steps, making him stumble to keep from swinging his meager luggage into her. “Oh, you mean Maria’s parents. Yes, I suppose they’re quite wild. Well, nothing for it.”

  “Nothing for it? You’ve got to go back and keep pretending to be her until I can figure this out. Since my relatives won’t help we should probably find Ariana. She’s our next best bet and she supposedly has a load of magical new friends.” He stuck his tongue out. “I suppose I’ll have to meet her bloody soulmate.”

  “Not her soulmate,” she said, hurrying along again.

  “Hold up, have you met him?” he asked incredulously. “Did she take you— I mean Maria— to the future? Or the past? I forget when she met the bloke.”

  “No.”

  “Oh come on now,” he said, grabbing her arm and just as quickly dropping it.

  The odd shield that didn’t let him get too near her seemed to be gone, but something still didn’t seem quite right. Her arm didn’t feel like an arm and he didn’t want to think too much about it for fear of going mad and running away from her. He needed to stay near if he was going to get the real Maria back.

  “Am I not walking fast enough?” she asked with mock innocence. He could swear she was teasing him somehow.

  “You’re walking plenty fast,” he puffed. “But how do you know anything about Ariana’s … that man she met.”

  “I know he’s not her soulmate,” she said maddeningly. “That’s all.” She wrinkled her brow and turned to him, the sparks in her eyes dulled to a simmering blaze. “You’ll need to find her, that’s true enough. But first I want to go home.”

  “Oh, thank God,” he said. “Wonderful. As soon as we get back to London, I’ll find Ariana and then everything will be good again.”

  She smiled and it wasn’t wolfish at all this time, it was gentle and sweet. It hurt his heart because it looked like the real Maria. “Yes, it will. But we’re not going to London.”

  “You said you wanted to go home,” he shouted. Trying to understand her was like being in a runaway cart going down a craggy hill.

  “Not Maria’s home,” she explained. “My home. You made me want to remember my name and it’s written somewhere there.”

  Owen pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes to keep his brains from spilling out. She was worse than Ariana’s little brothers. He let out a laugh that was close to a sob.

  “Where is your home, then?” he asked with all the patience he could muster.

  She smiled even more beatifically. “Scotland.”

  He laughed harder at that. Back to the beginning, where he was now convinced he never should have left. “Very well. Back to bonny Scotland.”

  Her smile faded and he studied her, gazing into those blank eyes and watching the disconcerting spark deep within them slowly recede into the background. Who was in there— what was in there with Maria?

  Chapter 7

  Dexter’s mood lightened as he wound the car through London traffic, keeping one eye on Ariana’s rapidly changing expressions at everything she saw. She gripped the door handle with one hand and her seatbelt with the other, gawking and squealing at regular intervals.

  “What is it all for?” she asked, finally able to get words out. “Doesn’t your head pound after seeing all this every day?”

  He grinned as she blinked her eyes against a particularly garish, flashing sign. “I suppose I’m used to it. I’ve always lived in London.”

  “I have as well,” she said incredulously.

  “I suppose it’s a fair bit different in your time.”

  “My mum grew up like this?”

  His smile faded at the sad ring to her voice. “Not quite like this. She’s from a much smaller town in the States. But she wouldn’t blink to see all this. Well, perhaps after so long away she would.”

  “Why?” Ariana demanded. “Why did she stop visiting you? Why did you stop visiting us? It’s so unfair.”

  He bit back on the reply that life wasn’t fair. He’d said that recently to Dahlia and gotten the sourest look ever before she slammed her door in his face. “I told you. The man who was able to do the spell to safely get us from time to time passed away. The portal is inconsistent to say the least.” They pulled into the car park for their flat and he turned to her. “There was no way to get from here to there anymore, plain and simple.”

  “Rubbish,” she said, making no move to get out. He began to suspect she didn’t know how. “According to Mrs. Hedley my father supposedly dashed about in time. And my uncle is supposed to be so amazingly powerful. It’s rubbish that there was no way.”

  “Uncle?” he asked, wracking his brain and not able to remember Ashford having a brother. And the Happenham relatives were anything but magical.

  She sighed. “Uncle Kostya? He’s not really my uncle but he may as well be.”

  He slapped his thigh as it all rushed back. “Ah, yes. His sister’s husband. From what I can recall being told he’d as soon cut off his own hand than use his powers. And with good reason.”

  “He’s not married to Father’s sister anymore. She died long before I was born. And what reason?” she wailed.

  He unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned over, popping open her side of the car. “Come along, let’s meet my lot. I’m sure you’re starving.” He could see she was about to protest but her stomach growled loudly. “Good, then. Follow me, young lady.”

  He herded her up the elevator, surprised she wasn’t all that impressed with that bit of modern ingenuity. When it spilled them out on his floor, he could see her wavering, not wanting to leave the small, mirrored room. As the doors began to slide shut she jumped out with a gasp.

  “Would it have taken me away?” she asked.

  “Not unless you pressed a button,” he told her. He showed her how it worked, thinking he should have made her fearful of it. Now she had the means to easily escape and disappear into the wilds of twenty-first century London. Nonsense, he told himself. She came here to visit you. Cut her some slack.

  He could hear yelling as soon as he pushed open the door. Dahlia was in her room hollering through the door at how unfair everything was. He glanced at Ariana to see if she could hear how foolish such an argument sounded. Her eyebrows shot up and she suddenly looked very small.

  “Is that your daughter?”

  “Step-daughter. And yes. She’s rather displeased with us at the moment. I take it you’ve never yelled at your parents?”

  Her face turned redder than a pomegranate and she pressed her lips together. Emma came from their bedroom with a cold compress stuck to her forehead with a fluffy cotton headband. She had a yellowed note in her hand. She took in Ariana from head to toe, barely batting an eyelash at the sight of her fancy nineteenth century gown.

  “Darling, this is my second cousin Ariana,” he said dutifully as she continued to inspect the gown. “Ariana, my wife, Emma.”

/>   Ariana bobbed a curtsy. Before she could get a word out, Emma attacked. “That gown is beautiful but it’s not from the 1830s, which is when I believe you should be coming from.”

  Dexter had been too upset over her appearing at all to take in her actual appearance, but now he noticed the differences in styles as well. He didn’t have as keen an eye for costumes as Emma but she was right. It seemed to come from a much later era. He had to remind himself with a sinking stomach that it wasn’t a costume at all, but what Ariana wore on a daily basis. Goodness, he was sunk if he couldn’t get her to go home soon. He almost couldn’t bear the thought of her wearing tattered jeans or ironic t-shirts with defunct band names on them.

  “You didn’t come from the thirties?” he asked, doing the math. “You’re seventeen? That would be somewhere around 1832-ish?”

  She scowled. “1832 is when I left my parents,” she sniffed. “The gown is from 1889.”

  She seemed to dare them to ask why she was coming from a different time from the one in which she belonged, but he refused to give her the satisfaction. Until he remembered the letter. And the very reason she was never supposed to learn about her magical heritage in the first place.

  “Bloody, bloody hell,” he said, looking hard at Emma, who still held the tattered, yellowing piece of paper.

  “She’s safe now, at any rate,” Emma said, shooing them toward the kitchen. “Let’s get you both fed.” She raised a motherly brow at Ariana. “Dex missed his supper to collect you.”

  Shockingly, she hung her head and apologized to him, breaking his heart a little. He had to remind himself that no matter how much they looked alike, this wasn’t Tilly. He and Tilly were peers, almost like siblings, so he could berate her without guilt. He could not do that to her teenage daughter. She was acting as if she weren’t, but she was still only a child.

  To her credit, Ariana pretended the crusty, dried up baked ziti was delicious, and politely admired the apartment while they ate. Emma raised her eyebrows at him and he shrugged. The girl had clearly been raised with all the social graces and could keep her countenance in even the strangest circumstances. He longed to grill her about why she was coming from fifty years ahead of her own time but held it in, wanting to be in control of the situation. And what a situation. He was almost grateful Dahlia was only caught shoplifting. It seemed far less serious than running away. He choked back a laugh, thinking that Ariana was only a few short miles from her home, but so very far away.