by S. J. West
Mason chuckles at my curiosity and turns on my cot to face me. In a low, conspiratorial voice he says, “I think Rafe has a bit of a crush on her. There’s a small dining room set up further down in the tunnels. It’s where the residents here usually eat their meals. He asked me to help him set up a small table there, so he could invite Nina to eat with him. His excuse was that he wanted to finish telling her about his work in Sierra Leone, but I think you can figure out his real motivation.”
“Nina doesn’t impress me as a wine-and-dine kind of gal,” I admit, worried about Rafe’s plan to woo our resident War Angel.
“Don’t worry,” Mason says unconcerned, “I’m sure he’ll figure out something if he’s really interested in her.”
“Seems an odd pairing, to tell you the truth,” I reply. “Nina’s a little rough around the edges. I get the feeling she doesn’t trust many people, and Rafe is one of the most trusting and sweetest-tempered guys I know.”
“They say opposites attract,” Mason says with a shrug. “Maybe Nina needs a little sweetness in her life.”
“Yes, but, what if something actually does happen between them? I’m not sure she can come back with us when it’s time for us to return home. And Rafe has to go back. God specifically said it takes all seven of us to open the dimensional gateway.”
“Well, why don’t we worry about that when there’s something to actually worry about? It’s just a dinner date, Jess. He isn’t proposing marriage to her and asking her to have his baby.”
“I just don’t want to see him get hurt.”
Mason wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer to him.
“That’s one of the things I’ve always loved and admired about you,” he tells me, kissing me on the forehead, “how much you care about your friends.”
“I protect the ones I love,” I tell him. “I always will.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The sound of JoJo’s sewing is actually a comfort to me during the night. The rhythmic movement of the needle as it glides through the fabric and the soft whir of the motor lull me into a dreamless sleep. Mason and I end up sharing one of the narrow cots. It isn’t necessary to share; Mason had been given his own cot, but I always sleep a lot better when he’s holding me.
During the past few years, sleep was a treasured commodity in my world. Thankfully, after we arrived here, my nightmares stopped. I have barely even had a full dream that I could remember after waking up. I can only assume my nightmares ended because I am finally carrying out God’s plans for me.
The next morning I wake to find Mason gently rubbing my back in a comforting up and down motion, coaxing me to join him in our new reality.
“Time to wake up, Jess,” he murmurs, kissing me gently on the lips to encourage my reawakening into the real world. “We need to go meet Tara.”
This gains my undivided attention and is better than a slap in the face to wake me up. I quickly open my eyes and look up at Mason.
“Where are we meeting her?” I ask, filled with excitement to see someone who is like a sister to me back home.
“I’m not sure yet,” Mason tells me, smiling at my eagerness. “Brand just came to tell me that they’ve figured out a plan for us to talk to her.”
I sit up on the cot and grant myself some time to readjust to my strange surroundings. When I look up at the altar, I see JoJo is still awake but trying to stifle a big yawn as she rolls a small black piece of leather between her hands.
I stand from the cot and walk over to her.
“JoJo,” I say, “did you get any sleep last night?”
“No time, mon ami,” JoJo says with a small shake of her head. “I had too much to do. I will get sleep later. Don’t worry about me. I will be fine. I am much tougher than I look, you know.”
“I’ll make sure she gets some sleep later,” Gabe assures me as he joins us, carrying two cups of coffee in his hands. He gives one cup to JoJo and the other one to me.
“Thanks, Gabe,” I say.
“Merci, mon amour,” JoJo tells Gabe, taking a small sip of the black coffee before concentrating on her work again.
I look beside the sewing machine on the altar and see my new outfit.
“You already finished it?” I ask JoJo, once again amazed at her inhuman tailoring skills.
“Oui,” JoJo sighs as if the project is a great weight lifted from her shoulders. “It is done. Though, I am still upset you will not be in white.”
I lean over and kiss JoJo on the cheek.
“It’s beautiful,” I tell her. “I love it.”
“It will have to do for now, I suppose,” JoJo sighs again.
I set down my cup of coffee and pick up the jacket, pants, and black turtleneck.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell everyone.
“Need any help?” Mason asks, with a cheeky grin. “I’m always willing to lend a helping hand or two.”
“No,” I say, turning my back to him to find the bathroom. “I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself.”
“Maybe later then,” Mason sighs disappointedly. I can only presume he’s alluding to helping me take it off at the end of the day.
My husband is completely incorrigible, and I wouldn’t want him any other way.
I go to the bathroom and quickly change into my new outfit. It fits like a glove, just like all the clothes JoJo has made me over the years. For some reason, JoJo felt as though she had to clothe us girls in her own creations. She got rather offended if we wore outfits not made by her hands. As a result, I just stopped buying clothes altogether and raided her fashion house whenever I needed something new to wear.
When I go back into the great chamber, I earn a wolf whistle from my husband.
“I like you in red,” Mason says, giving me an appreciative look. “Makes you look a little dangerous.”
“I am,” I tell him, stuffing my old clothes into my messenger bag before grabbing my baldric and sword. “Where’s Brand? I want to speak with Tara as soon as we can.”
“Come on,” Mason says, walking over to me and holding out a hand for me to take. “They’re preparing breakfast in the kitchen.”
Mason and I walk through the tunnel down to the kitchen area. Brand, Abby, Desmond, Carrig, and Malcolm are all busy cooking a breakfast of eggs, sausage, and biscuits. I can’t help but smile a little bit at the sight of Malcolm covered in a fine film of flour from making so many biscuits from scratch. At least he was given a red apron with the words ‘Kiss the Cook’ embroidered on it to keep his clothes from getting too dirty.
“Good morning,” Brand says with an effortless smile as we enter the area.
“Anything we can do to help?” I ask.
“Just eat your breakfast,” Brand tells me, handing both Mason and me plates filled with a hearty helping of food. “You have some time before you need to go meet Tara.”
“You say that like we’re the only ones who are going to be meeting with her. Aren’t you coming with us?” I ask, taking my plate from him.
“I’ll be taking you to the meeting place, but I won’t be staying,” Brand informs us. “Xavier thought it might be best if we did this without telling Tara beforehand what was happening. We don’t need her to act out of character. We have to go on the assumption that someone is always watching her.”
“What exactly is the plan?” Mason asks, taking his own plate from Brand.
As we start to eat our breakfast, Brand explains how our rendezvous with Tara is supposed to work.
“Xavier was able to learn that Tara visits her children once a week. Luckily, today happens to be one of her visiting days. Her mother is taking care of her kids, and she lives in a small town in Mississippi, called Lakewood. Tara always goes to her grandmother’s grave to visit with her while she’s there. It’s part of her normal routine, from what Xavier was able to learn. I think our best option is for you and Jess to wait for her at the gravesite, using your outfits’ ability to make you invisible. That way you can observe an
d judge whether or not it’s safe to make contact with her.”
“How can we make sure she’ll talk with us?” I ask. “She doesn’t know us or have any reason to trust us.”
“Well, we did think about that,” Brand says, looking uncomfortable about what he’s about to say next. “We think it might be best if you pretend to be her grandmother speaking to her from beyond the grave.”
I almost drop my plate.
“Are you serious?” I ask, hoping Brand is just making a really bad joke.
“It’s the safest option for everyone,” Brand replies. “Look, I know it’s not the most honest way to get the information we need, but if Tara is ever questioned, she can say she thought she was talking to her dead grandmother. It puts her in less danger. If they ever discover that she knowingly talked with us, they might kill her. I don’t think any of us want that to happen.”
“No,” I agree, “we don’t. I don’t enjoy lying to people, especially people I care about. I might not know this version of Tara personally, but I’m sure she can’t be much different from the one I do know.”
“So, if Tara starts hearing disembodied voices,” Malcolm says, contemplating this plan, “what’s to stop her from running away in terror?”
“There’s no guarantee that she won’t,” Brand concedes. “Jess will just need to convince her that she’s her grandmother.”
I shake my head in dismay because I have no idea how I’m going to pull off such a miracle. Tara and Lilly had shown me pictures of Utha Mae, of course. She was like a mother to the both of them while they were growing up. The only video I saw of her was taken at Lilly’s wedding reception. She only spoke a little bit, when she was asked if there was any advice she wanted to give Lilly and Brand on their wedding day. It had been a long time since I’d seen the video, but I did remember the warmth of Utha Mae’s voice and the few endearments she used in her sentences.
“I’ll do my best,” I say, even though I’m not too keen on the plan. I don’t like lying to people or playing tricks on them. It just isn’t me.
“When you get through eating, I’ll phase you to the graveyard,” Brand tells me. “Before this morning, I had never been to Lakewood before, but Noel showed me where to take you.”
It seemed so odd that this Brand had never been to Lakewood, considering our Brand and Lilly spent a great deal of their time there during the year. It was just another reminder that this wasn’t our reality. It made me yearn for the normalcy of our life back home.
After breakfast, Brand phases Mason and me to a wooded area behind a quaint church, with a small graveyard directly behind it. The church itself is identical to one of those idyllic chapels you see on the front of Christmas cards. It was white with a single steeple where a small brass church bell hung.
“I’m not sure what time she’ll come,” Brand tells us. “Xavier wasn’t able to ask that without it looking suspicious.”
“We’ll wait,” Mason tells him. “It’s not a problem.”
“Oh, and I have a lead on where Allen Westwood is,” Brand tells us. “Daniel thinks he knows where Angela and Allen are staying.”
“Will we be able to meet Daniel?” I ask, pleased to hear that another one of my friends is present in this reality.
“Yes. If his information pans out, he’ll take us to see Allen later. As I told you earlier, Allen’s mental state isn’t very stable. Even if Daniel is able to find him, it might take a while for him to convince Angela to let us see her father. From what I was told, she is very protective of him. Daniel will need to convince her to trust us. Even then, I’m not sure how long it will take for Allen to feel comfortable enough to take us to the inner realm where King Solomon’s Temple is hidden.”
“If your Daniel is anything like ours,” I say, “he’ll be able to arrange a meeting.”
“I’m sure he will,” Brand says with a smile. “Daniel’s always had a calming effect on people. It probably won’t take him very long to persuade Angela to help us.” Brand looks out at the graveyard and says, “I’m not sure where the grandmother’s grave is, but her name was Utha Mae Jenkins.”
I nod. “Yes, I know. She had already passed away by the time I met Lilly and Tara, but I’ve been to her gravesite before. It’s probably in the same place here.”
“Then I’ll leave the two of you to it,” Brand says. “I wish you luck.”
“Thanks,” I say, feeling as though I’ll need it, considering the subterfuge I’m about to undertake.
As soon as Brand leaves, Mason and I turn invisible, but, thankfully, we can still see each other, even if no one else can. We walk through the church graveyard hand-in-hand until we come to the double gravesite that Utha Mae shares with her husband. There is a bouquet of wilted daisies in the small stone vase underneath her chiseled name.
“Did you ever get to meet her?” I ask Mason.
Mason shakes his head. “No. I didn’t get the chance.”
I sit down on the raised granite bordering the graves.
“I’m not sure I can do this,” I confess to Mason. “I’m not very good at lying.”
Mason sits down beside me. “Don’t think of it as lying. We’re just trying to protect her as best we can.”
“It’s still lying,” I insist. “And I don’t think Tara is going to fall for it. She’ll know she’s being tricked. She isn’t stupid.”
“We’ll deal with that if it happens. We’ll just have to wait and see how she reacts.”
I lean into my husband, and he places a comforting arm around my waist.
We wait for Tara to show and almost give up hope that she will, until right after noon. When I see her walk into the graveyard, I find myself staring at this version of my friend in open disbelief.
This Tara has her hair styled in small braids and pulled back in a ponytail. She’s wearing a pair of thick, black-rimmed glasses that make her eyes look twice their normal size. She’s dressed in a pink and black plaid jumper, black Mary Jane-style shoes and has a pink beret sitting jauntily on her head. In her hands, she’s carrying a freshly picked bouquet of daisies mixed with other wildflowers.
Mason and I step behind the tombstones to give her room to approach the gravesite. As we survey the area, neither of us sees anyone else present.
“Hey, Grandma,” Tara says, sitting down on the granite border where I had just gotten up from. Apparently, Tara takes notice of the warm spot I left behind. She scoots back a little and places a hand to feel the temperature difference.
“Have you had other visitors today?” Tara asks, looking around the graveyard for signs of someone else in the vicinity. Finding the graveyard empty, Tara takes the wilted daisies from the vase and replaces them with the fresh flowers she brought. I watch as she continues to make furtive glances around the area, not fully trusting that she’s completely alone.
“Tara,” I say, not trying to disguise my true voice. I knew if I tried to do that, anything I said would simply come out sounding disingenuous.
Tara’s head snaps up as she looks at Utha Mae’s tombstone. Her eyes look even larger behind the lenses of her glasses now, and I know I only have a few seconds before she bolts out of the graveyard.
“Tara, baby,” I say, remembering Utha Mae use such an endearment in the wedding video, “I need to talk to you.”
“Grandma?” Tara whispers, looking confused and a little scared at hearing my disembodied voice.
“Tara, I need your help,” I say, unable to keep the pleading out of my voice, because I truly am in desperate need of her assistance.
“What kind of help would a spirit need from me?” Tara asks suspiciously, common sense kicking into play. “Aren’t you supposed to know everything now that you’re dead?”
It’s then that I know the plan isn’t going to work. Tara’s too smart to be fooled by what is essentially a parlor trick. I decide it’s time I place my trust in what I know of the Tara in our world. I doubt the two of them are very different, and I know my Tara would be
more willing to help someone who was honest with her instead of deceitful.
“Tara, I’m not your grandmother,” I say, dropping the pretense of being a spirit. “Are we alone? Did anyone follow you here?”
“Who are you?” Tara asks, quickly standing to her feet. “I’m not going to stand here and talk to thin air. Show yourself to me if you want my help.”
“Are we alone?” I ask again. “If they see me, it could place you in a great deal of danger. That was the whole point of me trying to act like I was Utha Mae. We were trying to give you plausible deniability.”
“We’re alone,” Tara assures me. “They do have someone who watches me when I’m home, but they don’t come with me to the graveyard for some reason. I guess demons don’t want to be reminded that there is a God.”
I become visible again so Tara can see me. She jumps slightly at the suddenness of my appearance, but quickly recovers from the shock.
“Who are you and what do you want from me?” Tara asks, watching me closely.
“I’m a friend,” I tell her. “I’m here to stop Lucian and Ravan from destroying what’s left of this world.”
“I think you’re a little late, hon,” Tara says, visibly relaxing a small bit. “They’ve pretty much done that already.”
“Things will get worse if we don’t stop them, Tara,” I tell her, needing her to understand the gravity of the situation. “We need to know what it is they’re trying to make you and Malik find for them at the dig sites. What are they searching for?”
Tara shakes her head. “I don’t know. All they told us was that we were supposed to bring any and all artifacts we find to them.”
“So they haven’t mentioned anything specific?” I ask, feeling my heart sink with disappointment.
Tara shakes her head again. “No.” She narrows her eyes on me. “Who are you? Are you a Watcher?”
“No,” I tell her, “but I am working with the Watchers who are trying to find a way to stop what’s happening here.”
