There was a pause. “Lacey?”
“Yeah,” I said softly.
Another pause. “Are you OK?”
My breath caught. I’d wanted to talk to him for so long, but I’d been afraid he would hang up, or worse, call me a monster. “I don’t know,” I answered honestly, and then the rest came out in a rush. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry about everything that happened back home. I know it doesn’t make up for any of it, and I know you can’t forgive me, but I’m sorry, I really am.”
A longer pause this time, and then Peter sighed and gave a strange little laugh. “It’s all such a mess, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” I heard people talking and music in the background. There was a two hour time difference between New Orleans and Las Vegas and I wondered if he was at a party with Miko. I stifled a swift flare of jealousy.
When he spoke again, the warmth in his voice told me he was smiling. “Do you remember last year when we went to that New Year’s party at Taylor’s house?”
“Of course.” It surprised me that he ever thought about something we did together when we were dating.
“And how she and her boyfriend got into a big fight and broke up, and you spent the whole night talking her down through the bathroom door while I watched TV? And then they were right back together the next morning.”
“I remember.”
“I’ve been thinking about that all day. That was a fun party.”
“Fun?”
He laughed. “Well, maybe not fun exactly, but eating junk food and lying on the couch watching TV while your girlfriend is helping a friend isn’t the worst way to spend New Year’s Eve.”
It took me a moment to get over the fact that he’d called me his girlfriend—something he’d never admitted to before—but I knew this wasn’t really about me.
“What’s going on, Peter?”
I knew his silences, his tones, and pauses. I’d studied him for so long, sure that we were meant to be together, that I could feel the sadness in the space between his words.
“It’s just not what I expected, that’s all. I’m not sure I fit anymore with . . . everyone.” But I knew he meant Miko. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”
My voice was harder than I intended. “Listen, there’s something else I should tell you. I had a little run in with one of Merlin’s people.”
“What? What happened?” He was all business now.
“It doesn’t matter. I took care of it. But you need to somehow find out Merlin’s true name. All the others are fakes, but his real name will give you power over him. And that’s not all. I know she’s supposed to be neutral, but I think the Seer of New York is on his side. You can’t trust her.”
“Are you sure? We’re going to see her. Taliesin thinks she can help us find Rhi’s mother.”
That surprised me, but I couldn’t forget the missing bones and how Chloe and Bel had disappeared at the same time. I didn’t know what they could do with them without the last bone safe in Marie Laveau’s tomb, but it worried me. “Just keep your guard up. And if you run into a girl called Chloe and a red-headed man called Bel, don’t believe a thing they say.”
When Peter replied, his voice was barely above a whisper, as if he didn’t want others in the room to hear him. “They’re already here.”
We stayed like that for a minute, listening to one another breathe. “Be careful,” I said finally.
“You should be here, Lacey.”
“Rhi would never accept me.”
“You’ve given us intel. That means something. I’ll talk to her.”
“I don’t belong there.”
There was a bitterness in his voice that shocked me. “None of us do.” The line went dead; he’d hung up.
I stared at the phone until the sounds from the houses on the street told me that the new year had begun. Tossing it on the bed—and ignoring the wrinkles it created on the smooth quilt—I went over to Ava’s desk and turned on her computer. Connecting with Bel’s head had done something to the hard drive in the Crone’s laptop. One of the guys throwing the party was supposed to be some kind of tech genius. Ava had taken the laptop with her to see if he could salvage anything from it. She seemed to think it was her responsibility since she was the one who’d used it as weapon, even though I reminded her that she’d done it to stop Bel from turning me to ash.
I hoped that this guy could help. Without the laptop, I couldn’t access either the spells or the little bit of money the Crone had left me. I didn’t even know the address of the mysterious house I’d inherited.
Logging into online banking, I sighed when I saw the balance on my credit card. I’d applied for it with my parents when I turned eighteen over the summer, and the plan was for me to use it for school supplies, or any emergencies, and then they would pay it off. The fact they hadn’t yet told me that the cost of Westover Academy was hurting them more than I’d realized. I promised myself that if I was able to get to the Crone’s money, I would pay them back.
I opened three more windows and pulled up the details on flights to three locations: New York, Las Vegas, and Toronto. Three choices for three paths with no clear ending in sight on any of them.
I had enough credit left to pick one.
As my fingers hesitated over the keys, they itched to bang out a rhythm in threes on the desk. I fought the urge to turn around three times. My throat ached to swallow. Numbers passed before my eyes, urging me to use them to find the right combination that would allow me to act.
I looked over at the little green dinosaur grinning at me from his perch on the shelf above my bed and my compulsions faded. I didn’t need help making my choice, because when I was faced with it, I made the hardest choice of all. This was a piece of cake.
“I love you, Stephen,” I whispered to the starry sky outside my window.
Then I pressed enter.
Lacey’s story continues in
SEALED IN SILVER
Coming July 2016
READ ON FOR AN EXCERPT FROM
THE BAD LUCK WITCH
A new paranormal mystery series with a dash of romance - Available May 2016
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{ 1 }
Kilkeel, Maine
It was just my luck.
Pitch black and still a couple of miles outside of Kilkeel, Maine, my beloved Ford Mustang finally decided to give up the ghost. Thankful for small mercies—since I knew they were the only ones I was likely to receive—I managed to pull over into a deserted parking lot before the car shuddered to a stop. Gripping the wheel hard, I had to admire my own restraint for not screaming obscenities at the top of my lungs. There was no point protecting my voice anymore, but I was pretty sure that if I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop. After eleven and a half hours of driving, I was worn out to the bone, and sitting there in the dark, with the moon glinting through the twisted shapes of unfamiliar trees, a little scared too. Taking a deep breath, I turned the key in the ignition one last, hopeless time, but after a couple of clicks, the car returned to a silence almost reproachful in its completeness.
“Sorry, baby.” I’d pushed the car too hard, and extensive experience had taught me that any repair would be complicated and expensive. Ten years old and suspiciously cheap, the Mustang had been an impulse buy; its red leather interior had seduced me into overlooking the 280,000 kilometers already clocked. I could have bought a new car for everything I’d spent on keeping this one on the road.
Miles, remember? Better get used to using the local lingo.
There was no point in just sitting there. Getting out, I stretched hard, joints popping, and looked around. There wasn’t much to see.
“So this is Maine, huh? Not exactly happening city.”
I’d packed everything I owned into the ridiculously small trunk of my car and turned my back on the only home I’d ever known in Toronto, Canad
a to cross the border and make the long journey to Kilkeel, Maine. It was a strange kind of homecoming. This was where I was born twenty-four years ago, almost to the day. Well, not right in Kilkeel, but at the hospital in the next largest town over. According to Wikipedia—the first thing I’d checked after receiving the letter that had changed my life—the population of Kilkeel was only about three thousand, though tourists flocking to the coast increased that number during the summer. My mom had grown up here, though Amelia Mason had never been back even once since she went north to Canada after I was born.
Shivering, I opened up the trunk and fished out a coat from one of my bags. I’d left behind an unusually warm October in Toronto, but here, the air was crisper. Pulling the coat on and belting it tight, I walked over to the dark building the parking lot encircled and peered in the window. If I’d had any kind of good luck at all, the place would have turned out to be a garage or something, but it was so dark that I couldn’t tell if the building was just closed, or abandoned.
Bad luck, per usual.
Well, there was no way in hades I was going to spend the night in my car with those dark windows staring at me. Retrieving my purse from the passenger seat, I returned to the trunk and pulled out my overnight bag. I’d anticipated probably having to stay over somewhere for the night, but, excited to begin a new adventure, I’d pushed through without stopping.
Fabulous idea that turned out to be.
Making sure the Mustang was locked up tight, I gave it another half affectionate, half resentful pat and began walking. I hoped the car would be safe until morning, but if someone dragged it away and left me free to collect a small payout from my insurance company, I wouldn’t complain. I should have bought a sensible automobile. Maybe a minivan. A million soccer moms couldn’t all be wrong.
As I trudged along, I could smell the ocean; it was somewhere close, hidden in the darkness. The brisk scent lifted my spirits and I picked up my pace. According to the GPS on my phone, I would soon encounter civilization—such as it was in this part of the world. On cue, houses started to pop up along the road. After a few more minutes, the first street light appeared, illuminating a purple and green Victorian monstrosity that looked like it was designed by Willy Wonka. The sign outside gave the inn some sort of a touristy, nautical name, but I barely registered it. I was too busy salivating at the thought of food, a shower, and a bed for the night, and I didn’t really care in what order.
When I stepped onto the columned porch and opened the front door, I could hear music; despite the lateness of the hour, a band was playing somewhere inside. It was good too. I could pick out at least two guitars and one banjo intertwining acoustically with a modern Celtic flair. As I entered the foyer, the song finished, followed by applause. The relative silence afterwards indicated that the set was also finished. A bit disappointed, I gave the old-fashioned bell on the reception desk a ring.
A long-haired man wearing a Grateful Dead t-shirt emerged from around a corner. “Hi there! If you were looking to hear the boys, they’re done.”
“Thanks, but I was hoping to get a room and maybe something to eat. My car broke down about a mile up the road.”
When the man bent over the computer on the desk, the light glinted off the bald spot on the top of his head. He tapped away at the keyboard for a moment. “Actually, you’re in luck. We had a last minute cancellation on our smallest room. I can only give it to you for the night though. It’s booked again tomorrow.”
“That’s great!” I replied, so surprised to encounter some good luck that I managed not to swoon when he told me the price. Pulling out my credit card, I mentally calculated whether it would cover the amount.
The man seemed to see the numbers turning over in my head. “It’s the season.” His voice was apologetic. “The rates go up as soon as the first leaf changes color. I would give you a break if I could, but I just manage the place. It’s the owner’s policy never to discount a room under any circumstance. If it’s too much, there’s another inn about a mile down the road, but I doubt it’ll be much cheaper this time of year.”
“That’s OK,” I said, but I held my breath as he swiped the card. Thankfully, the charge went through. I’d had the bad luck to have my card stolen a few months before. It had eventually all got sorted out, but there’s nothing quite like the cold shiver of embarrassment when your credit card is declined.
The man peered at the card as he typed my information into the computer. “Truly Mason—that’s an interesting name.”
Don’t say it. Don’t say it.
“Just like Truly Scrumptious in that movie with the flying car. What was it called again?”
“Chitty Chitty Bang Bang,” I said through gritted teeth. Mom had always said she’d named me after a song by Lionel Richie, but maybe she just didn’t want to admit she’d named me after a girl in a corny movie about a flying car.
“Yeah, that’s it. I loved that movie as a kid.” He retreated through a doorway behind the desk and then returned with a key and handed it to me. “Your room’s down the hall to the left, all the way at the end.”
“Thanks. Is the restaurant still serving?”
The manager motioned for me to follow him down the opposite hall. “It closed a couple of hours ago, but the pub should still have some wings and fries going, stuff like that. You’ll have to be quick though. Now that the boys have finished, it’ll be closing soon too.”
As we passed through a set of double doors, he waved over the only waitress on duty—a young woman with hair pulled into an artfully messy bun—to come and seat me. She directed me to an empty table close to the stage. I dropped my bag and purse on the floor and tossed the key onto the tabletop. Slumping down into the chair, I leaned back and looked around. Most of the other tables were full, but people were paying their bills and getting ready to leave. The band was putting its instruments away in cases.
The manager clapped one of the musicians on the shoulder on his way back out. “Nice set, Aidan.” The man murmured something in return as he eased his guitar into its case, but his back was to me and I couldn’t hear it.
The waitress pulled out a pad and pencil from the front pocket of her skintight black skirt. “You’ve got about fifteen minutes before last call. What can I get you?” Her tone bordered on hostile.
“Nothing to drink. Just whatever you have to eat that’s fast.”
“Nachos OK?”
I nodded, but the girl wasn’t looking at me. She had her eyes fixed on the man the manager had complimented. “Sure,” I said twice before I got her attention.
Making a note on her pad, she sauntered off without responding, brushing past the man who had captured her attention. She said something to him in a low voice accompanied by a coquettish smile. He shrugged, but didn’t otherwise respond. Pouting, the girl pushed through the swinging doors to the kitchen. By the way the three men on stage shared a look, the waitress’ behavior was expected.
When the object of her attention turned around to disassemble a mic stand, I totally understood why she was besotted. Tall and broad-shouldered, he was more rugged looking than was my usual preferred type, but he was definitely a lot of girls’ type. I would have cut his dark brown, slightly curling hair and shaved off the five, no, ten o’clock shadow, but there was no denying he was pretty gorgeous underneath the scruff.
As if he could feel me looking, his head swung around and our eyes met. He frowned. It was a little uncomfortable to be caught staring, but I held his gaze a moment and then glanced away, nonchalant and unconcerned. It was a free country, or so I’d heard. The man was not my type. I didn’t need to be embarrassed for just looking.
Of course, my type seemed to be the slick, handsome, cheats on his fiancée type, so the joke was probably on me.
The thought of Dylan darkened my mood even further. I couldn’t deny that part of the reason I’d jumped at the chance of a new life in Maine was to get as far as possible from my ex-fiancé and the humiliation of a wedding calle
d off only a month before the date.
The waitress returned with a plate of over-cooked nachos and a glass of water which she slammed down onto the table, sloshing some onto the plate. I was in the mood to bite someone, anyone’s head off, but she wasn’t even looking at me. She was too consumed with smirking and posing for the guy onstage to care about what she was doing with my order, and I was too tired and hungry to send it back. Resigned, I pushed the section of wet nachos off onto the table—the mess she would have to clean up later would be my petty revenge—and began wolfing down nachos.
The waitress shimmied back over to the stage. I didn’t care if it wasn’t polite; I’d been driving for hours with only the radio as entertainment, and the scene developing in front of me was dinner theatre. Though departing patrons sometimes obscured the view, and I couldn’t hear them through the din, it was obvious what was happening. The waitress asked the musician what he was going to do now. He made a gesture that indicated he was heading out. Fiddling with her hair, she invited herself along. While his compatriots rolled their eyes, the man shook his head no. Swishing her hair over her shoulder and pouting again, looking suddenly very young, she asked why. He told her why, and whatever he said, it wasn’t well received. I wasn’t an expert lip reader or anything, but her retort appeared to contain an impressive array of expletives. Riveted, an evil part of me was enjoying the drama.
But I dropped a salsa-laden tortilla chip in my lap when the musician pointed straight at me.
“Damn!” I scooped the mess off my jeans, scrubbing at the stain with a napkin dipped in what was left of my water. By the time I’d cleaned myself up, the man had strode over to loom over me while the sulky waitress hovered behind him.
“You’re late,” he growled. “I’ve been expecting you for three days.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I grew up in a family where books about myths and legends were used to teach me the ABCs, and Irish uncles still believed in fairies. Raised with tall tales, I’ve always told stories too—first as an actor and singer, then as a photographer, and now as a writer.
Sword of Elements Series Boxed Set 2: Bound In Blue, Caught In Crimson & To Make A Witch Page 59
