I call this a darkness because as I write this, people pound at the gate of the Secluded City, demanding that I step down from my throne, demanding that Amor be free. My guards have been attacked repeatedly as they move among the people, trying to restore order to the rebellion that is brewing. The leader of this rebellion calls for the people to raise their swords against us. I have heard that he is charismatic and speaks the words the people long to hear. This man, his name is Askan, will bring nothing but havoc to my island, my nation, and here I sit, powerless to defend myself and our way of life against the rabble. They demand that I give up myself, the palace, and the Eye of the Wolf. This Askan charges that the Wolf’s Eye, on which this very nation was founded, was stolen by my grandfather from its rightful owner in Jerusalem. He demands that it be returned to him, that he is the grandchild of the Sultan and the rightful owner of the Eye of the Wolf.
I do not know what to do. My grandmother charged me with destroying the Eye of the Wolf many years ago, on the day of my coronation. I made her empty promises that I would. Now, this gem has brought nothing but pain to me and my family. I must fulfill my promise to Grandmother Elena. I must destroy the Eye of the Wolf before it destroys us all. I must protect my kingdom before Askan usurps the throne and throws this once peaceful kingdom into chaos. I must bring peace. I cannot be a warrior king like my grandfather and father. I must be remembered for the strength of the country and the belief that we are one. I must fulfill my coronation promises.
Rain pattered gently against the glass of the window. The gray sky was a simple reminder of the dread that had settled on the island following the discovery of Dejeune’s body. Instead of festive music playing from speakers lining the streets and flowers spilling from boxes along parade routes, voices were muted and parties were cancelled. The 900th anniversary celebration had lost its spirit once it had been publicized that a murderer was living on the island. News reports claimed that the identity of the killer was unknown, but Mikayla knew that it was only a matter of time before someone leaked to the press that the American professor was the prime suspect and no evidence had been found to change their minds.
She gazed out the window as her pen tapped against the paper resting on her knees. The window seat that had once been a spot for dreaming was now a spot for remembering. Remembering information gathered and lost. Remembering events that, a week later, turned her stomach and made her head spin. Remembering that her life would never be the same.
She leaned her forehead against the glass, the pinging of the rain drops an octave above the crash of the ocean waves. A mournful symphony when the wind whistled through. Her head ached, and she rubbed her eyes, glasses nestled in wild hair. She was trying to remember, trying to remember what she had learned through her research. Trying to remember if there had been anything that would have given a clue as to Dejeune’s murderer.
The police inspector was kind to her and was doing his best, but the evidence, circumstantial evidence at best, all pointed to her. She knew how these things worked; she had read enough police and spy novels to know that the tourist was always the suspect and was always convicted on that circumstantial evidence. She also knew that the courts of Amor were nothing like the courts of America. In Amor, a person was not innocent until proven guilty. In Amor, a person was guilty until proven innocent. There was no Constitution to protect the rights of the citizens, and the American Constitution made no impact on the legal system of Amor. She hadn’t even been allowed to retain American counsel. Her attorney was a native who had studied law in Greece and spoke very little English. She was nervous.
Mikayla sighed and returned to the diary and paper resting on her lap. She skimmed the notes she had written and jotted a few more ideas. Her head snapped up as the shower down the hall turned off. She shoved the diary beneath the pillows of the window seat and smoothed the lump. Then, she nestled in again, sitting atop the diary, hiding it from view. She willed her heart to settle and her breathing to regulate. A smile blossomed on her face as Will stepped from the bathroom, a towel slung low on his hips.
He walked the few short steps down the hall and pressed a quick kiss to her up-turned lips. He glanced over the paper on Mikayla’s knees, noting the doodles more than the words. “What are you up to?”
She handed the paper over and clicked the pen against her teeth as he read her notes. “I was just trying to remember some more things from the research we did and from the diary.” She looked out the window at the water streaming down the glass. “I was also trying to remember some things from the day of Dejeune’s death. My mind is blank, Will. I can’t remember anything other than seeing him lying there, those scissors sticking out of his gut.” She shuddered and was comforted by the hand he rested on her shoulder.
Will quickly made a few mental notes concerning what was written down and then handed the notepad back to her. He wandered down the hall towards the bedroom. “Luv, I told you, you don’t have to worry about anything. You will be fine.” He dropped the towel and began pulling on shorts and a shirt. He ran a fast hand through his hair.
Mikayla edged onto the end of the bed. Questions and suspicions ringed in her mind. She had promised Will that they would search for the Eye of the Wolf, but now, a week later, as things died down, her mind began to wonder what his interest in the stone was. Why was he so interested in a jewel that had disappeared eight hundred years before? What would he gain if he were to find the jewel? What would it do to the tenuous relationship they had developed?
Mikayla was sure she loved him. She knew in her heart that she did, but she still didn’t trust him. Each night she had awakened in the middle of the night to find him gone, his side of the bed cold. He would return early in the morning before the sun rose, slipping into the bed beside her. He thought she was asleep, but she hadn’t slept. She had considered waiting for him to leave and then following him, but something inside her held her back. Something told her to stay in the bed where she was safe.
She watched him dress, then, run fingers through his hair. She had to know. She had to ask. She couldn’t continue to sleep beside him, love him in the late hours of the day and the early hours of the morn after working side by side for the same common cause, her freedom, without knowing at least what he would say. She cleared her throat, causing him to turn from the mirror and look at her with amusement. She had to ask, yet it wasn’t the question that jumped from her mouth. “Will, I would like to go to the museum today. I want to return to the crime scene.”
Will turned from her to the window. Water streaked the glass. There was lightning in the far distance. Before the day was through, a storm would rampage the island. He scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair, mussing it. He turned and looked at her, his features unreadable other than the concern that was evident. All other emotions were blocked off. “Why, Mikayla? Why do you want to go back there?” He held out his hands, pleading. “The inspector is doing everything he can, I promise you. Why do you want to go back there?”
Mikayla picked at a hangnail on her finger. She avoided his eyes, knowing that he would see the lie. “I want to use the Hall of Records. I think there are some things that we are forgetting that we could dig up in there, that’s all.” She kept her eyes lowered, picking at the loose skin.
Will crossed the room in two strides and knelt before her. He stilled her hands in his own and tipped his head until she had no choice but to look at him. “Luv, that is a crime scene. I cannot take you there. If there are some records you would like to see, I can have them sent over or perhaps we could just rack our brains somemore.” He shook her hands slightly. “I can’t take you there.”
Mikayla lifted her head. Her clear blue eyes bored deep into his. “Will, when the police arrived at the museum, was anything missing?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, had anything been stolen?” Mikayla jerked her hands away and stood from her seat leaving Will to totter on one knee.
His head follow
ed her as she roamed the room, like a panther caged, he thought briefly. He shook his head. “No, nothing had been stolen.”
Mikayla turned on him, her eyes sharp, her movements jerky. “That’s not possible, Will. The crown can’t have been there because it wasn’t there when I went to find Dejeune.”
Will rose slowly from his spot on the floor. He took her hands in his own, cuffing her wrists to keep her still. “Mikayla, what are you talking about?”
She struggled to yank her wrists free as panic started to bubble in her chest. She had thought about this, she had dreamed about it. She could see the case clearly, the spotlight catching the glass in a glint of light. The satin pillow was empty; King Henry’s crown gone. “It was gone, Will. I went to investigate a noise and saw that the crown was gone. That was when I found Dejeune.” Her voice hitched slightly. He didn’t believe her. She could tell he didn’t, but why should he when she didn’t trust him.
Will released her wrists and stalked away. He could see in her eyes that she believed what she was saying, but for him, it was too hard to believe. There was no reason for the crown of King Henry to be missing. It wasn’t even used during coronations any longer. History had written it off and relegated it to a historical artifact. He knew that taking her to the museum was dangerous. She was suspected in the murder that had taken place there. It didn’t matter that he was a member of the royal family; she was a criminal in the eyes of Amorian law. Her returning to the scene of the crime, if they were caught, would only enhance the look of guilty. In order to get into the museum, they would have to commit a crime.
Will turned to her, his eyes dark and that grin that had told Mikayla the first time she met him that he was trouble dancing on his lips. “Let’s go.”
The rain was pouring down as Will slit the police tape that sealed the heavy doors to the museum with the knife he had brought from Mikayla’s kitchen. Hair plastered to his forehead and his shorts soaked beneath the edge of the rain jacket he had thrown on before striding out the door. Mikayla huddled next to him, her face turned away from the street, her body blocking him. To a passerby, their body positions would have looked like a passionate embrace instead of a crime in process.
With one last glance over his shoulder, he ushered Mikayla through the doors into the dim. The door slid closed behind them, echoing across the chamber. Will flicked on his flashlight and shone it across the room to the glass case where the crown of King Henry was to reside. His heart was in his throat and sweat beaded on his forehead as he led the way across the room. They shouldn’t be here; he knew they shouldn’t, yet here they were.
Their shoes squished on the marble floor. The flashlight beam danced in the corners of the room. They moved slowly, nervousness dancing across every limb. They drew closer to the case. It gleamed in the gloom like a diamond in the dark.
The case was sealed with bright yellow police tape. Powder covered the case where fingerprints had been dusted. Mikayla stopped short within a few feet of the jewel case. Her breath caught in her throat; she panted and gripped Will’s hand weakly in her own. Her eyes were riveted. Her mind whirled around the moment that she had found him, blood seeping across the floor. The screaming that had erupted from her lungs as she slipped in his blood. He had grabbed her and held her, his mouth working, trying to tell her something.
Will followed her gaze to the floor as it traced the white chalk outline of Dejeune’s body on the marble. A strange mixture of sadness and fury filled him. A desire to protect and a desire to kill conflicted within him as he thought of the moment that had brought the two of them, sneaking into a place that once had welcomed tourists and now was a tomb of death. He released Mikayla’s hand and put the arm around her shoulders. He leaned into her, his breath warm on her ear. He whispered comforting words in French, words he remembered his grandfather whispering to him after his brother’s death, words that had made him better even if they hadn’t solved the problem.
Slowly, Mikayla’s trembling soothed until she stood still, her head leaning against the strong shoulder beside her. Her hand unclenched and released his wet jacket. Her breathing slowed. Her head lifted and her eyes were clear once again. She mumbled an apology and took a step closer to the jewel case, avoiding the body outline on the floor.
Will hefted the flashlight again and stepped up to the case next to her. The lights that had once illuminated the case had been turned off. The museum was indefinitely closed until the police resolved their murder investigation. Will shone the light into the case.
Mikayla found that she had been holding her breath. It exhaled painfully as her eyes rested on the gilded gold and many jewels of King Henry’s crown, resting peacefully on the satin pillow, his scepter beside it, brilliant in the beam of light. “No!” Her exclamation reverberated off of the walls, sounding like a shout into the Grand Canyon.
Will clamped his free hand over Mikayla’s mouth; his eyes the only warning she needed to be reminded that they were thieves, stealing into the crime scene when they had no right to be there. She nodded slightly and he removed his hand with one last fierce glance.
Mikayla leaned into him. Her fingers clutched at his jacket, pulling him closer. “Will, I swear to you, that case was empty when I found Dejeune. I swear it!” Her voice raised an octave as the stress began to take its toll.
Will nodded his head and gently pried her plucking fingers loose. He didn’t believe her. He would never admit he didn’t believe her, but he didn’t. How was he to believe that the crown had been stolen when it was sitting in the case right where it had always been. She had imagined it, along with everything else that had occurred. She was suffering from some sort of hysteria, brought on by the accusations leveled against her. He had humored her on this, but now, it was time to get her out of there and back to the house. They could continue the discussion and the research there, but they couldn’t stay in the museum any longer.
Will took Mikayla’s hand and began to tug her across the floor despite her whispered protests. She grabbed his hand with her free one and began to pry at his fingers. Her voice became more adamant, demanding that he release her, pleading for him to understand that the crown had been missing. Her mind returned to the moment that she had found Dejeune and the way he had held her firmly in place until death had finally claimed him. He had been trying to tell her something.
He had been alive when she had found him.
Finally, she tugged her hand free and stopped in the center of the museum. Without bothering to whisper, she addressed him, using that haughty professor voice that both infuriated him and turned him on.
“Will, I swear to you that crown was not there. I don’t know what it means, but it means something. I need to open the case. I need to look at the crown.”
Will stared at her. His mind circling around in confusion. “Mikayla, I have to get you out of here. We aren’t supposed to be here.” He gestured to the case with the now darkened flashlight. His whisper crept across the floor to her. “I brought you here to satisfy this drive in you, but we have to go.”
Mikayla crossed the floor to him in three strides, her long legs carrying her across the distance with that smoothness he had noticed the first time they had met. “Will, Dejeune was alive when I found him. He died right there, in front of me. I think he was trying to tell me something, but I can’t remember what.” She tugged at his hand. Those blue eyes pleaded, melting his resolve. “I just need to look at the crown, Will. That’s all I need.”
Will held his ground, even as his decision to leave melted away into the darkness. He needed to know one thing. “Why, Luv? Why is it so important?”
Mikayla looked across the floor of the museum. It was now the moment of truth. For this, she would have to trust him. She couldn’t get him to help her if he didn’t know the truth, whether it was the best thing or not. She needed his help. With a heavy sigh, Mikayla withdrew the diary of King Malachi from her pocket of her skirt. She handed it to Will.
Will took it in hi
s hand, disbelief written in every feature and distrust dancing across his face. He flipped on the flashlight, shining the beam on the plain leather binding, knowing instinctively that while he hadn’t been completely honest with her, she hadn’t been completely honest with him. “I thought everything was stolen, Mikayla.” His voice was hot, burning her.
Mikayla felt the heat of his words, the anger beneath the calm. She felt small, insignificant. It was amazing, she thought, how someone who obviously kept secrets of his own from the person he proclaimed to love could make her feel silly for keeping her own secrets. Her voice trembled in a whisper. “This was somewhere else in the house. The thief didn’t get it. I’ve been reading it.”
Will leveled violent gray eyes on her face. A snarl turned his lips. “So, you didn’t trust me enough to tell me that you still had this?” He pointed at her with the leather book.
Mikayla gingerly took the diary from his hand. “I’m sorry, Will, but I honestly didn’t know who to trust.” She took a step away from him, putting physical distance where only emotional distance had existed. “You lied to me about a great many things.”
Will threw up his hands, a helpless gesture that wasn’t so helpless coming from him. “Oh, so that gives you a right to hide things from me, part of my heritage?” His whisper was fierce as he took a step closer to her. “Tell me, Mikayla, why must you look at the crown. What is it in that diary that tells you to look at the crown?”
Mikayla glanced furtively over her shoulder. The room was the same as it had been, yet she had felt something, something in the air change, a charge electrifying the air. She looked back at Will, her eyes wide, but he continued to stare at her, anger in every feature. “Will, I promise you, if you let me look at the crown, I will tell you what it is in the diary that tells me.”
The Eye of the Wolf Page 27
