Disavow: Web of Hearts and Souls (Rivulet Series Book 2)

by Jamie Magee

  Mason didn’t say anything.

  “Was it weird talking to her after all this time?” he asked.

  “I’ll let you know when that happens.”

  “Wait, you haven’t said a word to her?” Soren asked.

  “She’s only been here for like five hours.”

  “She been at the house you are in for five hours and you have not said a word to her—and you’re still breathing?”

  “It’s a big house.”

  “Sure.”

  “Jamison must think there are answers in that text if he sent River up here,” he knew more. Mason knew he did.

  “More than likely.”

  “Answers that keep the girls on the sidelines?”

  “That I don’t know.”

  Yes he did, he just wasn’t going to tell me. “All right, thanks, man.”

  “Wait, that’s it?”

  “Yeah, for now.”

  “Are you calling Grandma?”

  “You think she’s up?”

  “Her light is on.”

  Mason knew Soren could see her house from his; his entire family lived on one street down there. “Then yeah.”

  “Good.”

  Mason made that call to his Grandmother. He stayed on the phone for two hours. Listened to her tell him how worried she was, not only about now but about what was to come. He let it all out. Like he was twelve again. Told her every single thing he was feeling, what he’d been through.

  If anyone in his family would get it, and not judge him, or think it was too out of this world, it was her. Nothing he said shocked her, not his death, the rise of a Phoenix, or even his role at Indie’s side. It was like she was expecting it. That was just how that side of Mason’s family was; nothing really shocked them because they expected and accepted everything.

  For all Mason knew, his grandmother herself was immortal, or at least aged slowly. She didn’t look a day over forty-five but had her eightieth birthday earlier that year. When they were kids, Braxton and Mason would joke that Mom was just jealous of Grandma because she was still a knockout, and chalked up the strife to it being a girl thing.

  Mason’s Grandmother told him that he could not go back to who he was when he was with River because they’d grown. She said that their past could be their foundation, their roots, and they could become something new. But Mason had to lay that past down first. He had to confess his sins, close that door, and open a new one with River at his side. She told him to read his thoughts and feelings that were in his last letter to River, the one she told him to write years ago.

  Back when all this went to hell in a handbag, and no one would talk to Mason or make River talk to him, his grandmother told him to write it down, if he didn’t have the strength to say it, to write it, that written words were sacred because they could not be taken back, they entombed the emotions of the moment, set a marker in place for that point of existence. She told him to tell River he still felt that way.

  Mason didn’t admit that he wrote the letter and never mailed it. He was too much of a coward. He didn’t admit that at least once a month since they split he tried to find the courage to mail it, and that for longer than he could remember he had carried it in his wallet. A wallet he had left in his truck the night of the accident, a wallet that was spared from the lake, from the fire.

  By the end of the call Mason decided to take her advice, he decided to give River the words she should have read years ago.

  Which is why he was sitting in the hall in front of River’s room. They were going to have a heart to heart no matter how bad it hurt them.

  Chapter Eight

  The impression Indie was given about this dinner was that it was formal, which meant she had to go to her old room and dig out the clothes she wore to charity banquets, or the banquets Ben had set up. If Rasure forced her to attend one she made it a point to wear jeans.

  Dark emotions swarmed Indie as soon as she unlocked that door. Cadence. She still was not over the fact that girl had fooled her for so long. Part of Indie grieved for the girl she thought Cadence was, the other part wanted to destroy her. The popular consensus was that someone had beaten them to the punch on that one. If that were true, and Indie figured out who they were, they were going to be getting a generous gratitude package from the Falcon manor.

  The room looked exactly the same, a standing shrine to the girl Indie was before her death, clothes were here and there, camera’s she’d used for school were set up across the shelves and dressers, her laptop was still sitting on her desk. It looked like she stepped out for a coffee and never came back, which in a sense had happened.

  Indie shoved her anger regarding her past down as she grabbed the dress she was after. She stopped the head of the wait staff on the way back to the room she shared with Phoenix in the North Wing and told her to put it on the scheduled to burn all of Cadence’s belongings. She repeated burn when the woman looked at Indie like she was a fool.

  The gown she chose was a deep red, with a black woven rose across the chest. It was sleeveless, fit every curve of her body, and reached the floor. She curled her hair back so that the edgy ends would vanish and she would look the part of an heiress, or the Queen of the Veil as it were. She wasn’t sure she could handle dressing like this all the time, it made her feel like she had a mask on, but at the same time it helped her fall into character, play the role before her and hide her own fears and insecurities. Odd how clothes can do that for a girl.

  Indie was a little scared she had overdone it when she put on her mother’s pearl necklace that matched the bracelet Phoenix had given her. That idea went out the window when she opened the bathroom door and saw Phoenix fastening his cuff links. Since she’d found him, she’d never seen him dressed in anything beyond jeans. The sight of him now, in his tieless suit, flooded her mind with memories of their past on the other side. All those times they had entertained world leaders hoping to find a common ground, hoping the Falcon name was powerful enough to instill peace in their world.

  He slowly looked in her direction then tilted his head. Her breath caught when she gauged the hungry glint in his eyes. He made her feel beautiful, seductive and loved, with one glance.

  “Bloody hell, woman. I told you that we had to go out tonight.”

  Indie lifted a brow. “Should I find a more elegant dress?” she quipped.

  He rubbed his hand slowly over his strong jaw line, never breaking eye contact with her, “That would be an impossibility.” He manifested before her in an instant, his hands landed softly on her bare shoulders then eased their way down her body. Indie sighed taking in his burning touch. “This dress is going to kill me.”

  “Not a good thing to say considering we are having dinner with The Reaper.” She loved the deep, near silent laugh he let out, the one that came from the center of his chest. It told her she was doing more than amusing him; she was capitalizing on every emotion she gave him from humor to passion.

  “Let’s hope the man is not winded.”

  Indie was a bit worried her next statement would strike his ego, but she was nervous and when she got that way she always reaches for as much support possible. “Are you sure the boys do not need to be with us? I mean, are we not a team?”

  He’d leaned forward and was whispering kisses across her neck, “If we brought them we might as well put a neon light across you. They’re needed for when you pass judgment, or when you’re in danger. If we run into a tight spot they’d be pulled there anyway.”

  “Right,” Indie breathed.

  “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, ever,” he said as his eyes met hers and his warm hands slid down her arms.

  He held her hand and led her from the room. When they reached the foyer, he slipped her shawl over her shoulders.

  “How do we go to him?”

  “He’s sending for us. If we had to walk through the Veil, I would have more than the boys with us.”

  Indie heard horses neighing in the distance.

>   She didn’t own horses...

  Phoenix gave her his arm, then moved them just outside. In the distance across the grounds, Indie narrowed her stare to where the sound was originating, still not seeing the source, but picking up the powerful gallops. She clenched Phoenix’s arm for dear life. A second later, dark smoke flooded the night air, then rhythmically transformed into horses, eleven black horses pulling a carriage, a carriage without a driver.

  This wasn’t peculiar at all. Yeah, right.

  The carriage stopped just before them, and the door opened as if the coach driver had dropped down from his seat and invited them in.

  Ladies first, right? Maybe so, but she never let go of Phoenix as she stepped in.

  Indie looked calm on the outside, but she was unhinged on the inside. This was too wicked, even for her. What kind of person would walk into death dressed for a ball? Me. I would. I am.

  The carriage jolted forward. She leaned into Phoenix as she stared out the window. The speed the carriage was traveling at was insane and she knew without a doubt the front gates were not only closed but they were heavily guarded.

  They moved right through them as if they were nothing but air. Less than a minute later, the carriage slowed then came to a stop. Indie gazed out her window, letting her eyes angle from one side to the other.

  At least The Reaper had good taste in real estate. Why did she say that? Because she was looking at her manor.

  “Do you have any clue what just happened?” she asked under her breath.

  Phoenix leaned closer to her. “Not a clue, love. Rumors have it that he manifests what makes you feel comfortable, for when you see him you are never calm due to death.”

  “How considerate.”

  The carriage doors opened by themselves once again, she was not reaching her hand out for someone to help her down. Nope.

  Phoenix stepped out then helped her down. The doors to what looked like her manor opened wide. Not a soul was there.

  “Suppose we should give the small formal dining room a shot,” Phoenix said as he started to lead them in that direction.

  This was just too bizarre. The manor had entertained world leaders in both the realities Indie knew of, but this was a first.

  The walls just outside the smaller formal dining room were covered in purple flames. Instinct put Indie on high alert. In her mind, the manor was a living, breathing, being, and this was going to bring it down, even if it was just a manifestation.

  “It’s a shield. He’s blocking this meeting from unwanted guests.”

  “Sure,” Indie breathed.

  When they stepped forward, the aroma of every favorite food of Indie’s filled the room. The oval table was set; the main course in place, still steaming, with soup set in front of five places at the table.

  In the corner, in front of the bar, Indie found every reason to stop breathing and faint. Her father was standing there.

  Her father. The man that had raised her and had led the Falcon name valiantly until he died just shy of forty. His dark hair was combed back the way he’d always worn it, silver was racing through the dark locks, his broad shoulders looked powerful in the suit he was wearing. From where Indie stood, beyond the food, she could smell his aftershave. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled, everything was the same except the eyes, the eyes were not dark brown, they were a light blue.

  “Genevieve, please,” he said as he extended his arm, gesturing for them to have a seat.

  Phoenix led Indie to the head of the table and pulled her chair out. She never took her eyes off The Reaper, or at least the image he was portraying. She’d set her father’s soul free days ago when she released him from the prison Rasure had him and the rest of my family in. If she’d seen this image before then, it would have destroyed her. Now, now it didn’t. At present, it made her remember the man he was; how carefully and humbly he used his power to make the world a better place, the ease he made any guest feel, no matter what the topic may be.

  The Reaper looked deeply into her eyes, more than likely wondering if he should throw on another image.

  “You are at ease,” he said as he and Phoenix took their seat.

  Indie bowed slightly. “I had not had a chance to remember the man my father was without the grief in place, thank you.”

  Phoenix’s eyes shifted between the pair of them. He didn’t know what the man that had raised Indie in this life looked like.

  “I assume your travel here was uneventful.”

  “Impressive,” Indie said as she watched her wine glass mysteriously fill with red wine. Eerie. She raised her glass to The Reaper.

  “Please,” he said nodding for Phoenix and her to eat.

  Like that was going to be easy. Indie didn’t even crave or need food anymore, but the taste, the sensation that eating gave was still just as intense, if not more so.

  If Phoenix was nervous you would have never known it; he was calm, even making small talk with The Reaper about the paintings in the room, ones that mirrored what was hanging in the real manor.

  Indie kept staring at the other two empty chairs wondering who else was coming. In the setting to her right, the food kept vanishing, as if were being consumed. Once the plate was taken away, meaning the dishes evaporated, she could swear she smelled a pipe.

  The wine remained. Indie’s glass stayed full, even though she had taken more than a few sips. She was calling it quits, though. She wanted to be clearheaded for this conversation.

  “I assume your transformation went smoothly,” The Reaper said.

  She tilted her head, “by some measure it is still in process.”

  “You look well.”

  She bowed to thank him.

  He kept doing that. Making a statement, allowing her to comment, then letting silence take over as if she were to open a topic. What was she suppose to ask him? How are things at the office? Not good, apparently. Oh yeah, and there are like a billion clocks under my house. Any clue as to what they hold? If they’re souls, how do I get them out?

  “Others seem to feel my transformation is complete,” is what she ended up saying.

  “Is that a fact?” he said with a wry smile.

  Must have been the topic he wanted her to approach.

  “Of course, I’m assuming.”

  “And what led to that assumption.”

  “The thousands of ghosts at my front gate, and two boys popping into my office this morning.”

  “Cashton,” The Reaper nodded, and a slow smile crossed his face.

  Indie glanced at Phoenix. She remembered the boy that was alive was named Draven, mainly because she could see him more clearly, and the fact that, apparently, his brother was who Skylynn loved.

  Phoenix agreed with a nod, “He was brought there by Draven Michaels.”

  Right about then the sound of a guitar erupted from the empty seat that Indie would swear to you was smoking a pipe and had a full course meal with them.

  The Reaper grinned and raised his wine class. “Ah, now that is not shocking. I understand Draven and company have released several damned from The Realm.”

  Indie didn’t know much about The Realm, but she knew that was where Phoenix’s battles were.

  “Tell me,” The Reaper said as he eased into his seat. “Did you feel the need to help him? Cashton, that is.”

  “I feel the need to help many.”

  “Evasive.”

  “The truth. I want to fulfill my fate.”

  “That is not all you want.”

  “No,” Indie said, holding that clear blue stare of his. His voice even resembled her fathers, smooth, calm, calling you forward to speak your mind. “I was watched over in the life I just left behind. I’d like to release the soul who kept guard over me from the shadowed existence she has. I would like to release any soul that might be trapped on my property as well.”

  “I see.”

  “Is that possible?” Phoenix asked.

  “Anything is possible. With time.” The Reap
er met Indie’s gaze once more. “Do you consider yourself a patient person?”

  “Depends on the topic.”

  “Honest.”

  “It does not sit well with me that souls are trapped, whether they are supernatural warriors, haunts taking up residence in old clocks, or shadowed souls.”

  “I would tend to agree.”

  “To be blunt, are your offices a little backed up? What is with the overflow at my front gate?”

  Phoenix bit a grin back, The Reaper didn’t, he let a massive grin slowly spread across his image. Indie was either amusing him or impressing him.

  “Diverted for reasons that I can not disclose.” The Reaper said.

  “What can I do to help?” Marching orders, please.

  “Follow your instinct.”

  “Release Skylynn?” she questioned.

  “Is that what you feel should be done?”

  “It has to be done at some point,” she blurted out before she could think of a reason to back up her statement.

  “And Cashton did not appeal to you, or the sons of the East and the West?”

  “I didn’t speak to him, but yes, yes he did. If I knew how, I would have released him.”

  “Without knowing his role?”

  “He was standing with Draven, a boy that is respected by Phoenix. You may or may not be aware of this, but the man I love does not offer respect freely.”

  “I’m aware,” The Reaper stated, as he shifted his stare to Phoenix, who was not even trying to deny her accusation.

  “Miss Falcon, brevity is the only course I can take with your guidance. This war is complicated, many souls are out of place, yet at the same time, their free will has guided them to where they need to be. A wave of your will could easily do more damage than good if decisions are made in haste.”

  “I do not wish to complicate issues.”

  “Inevitable. In some form, at some time, whether by your actions, or the simultaneous actions of others, it will occur.”