Unleashing Echoes (Reconstructionist 3)

by Meghan Ciana Doidge

“I do. I do know.”

  “The vampire would have contacted us.”

  I sighed, laying my head back on the chaise. “He wouldn’t.”

  Declan made a pained noise.

  I closed my eyes, denying my need to reach out to him and welcoming the numbness that weighed down my chest. It had cleared momentarily at the sound of Declan’s voice, but now I let it take me once again.

  “I’ll only be gone a few hours,” Declan said. “I’m taking Dawn to her grandparents.”

  I didn’t answer. The house would miss the girl’s presence … no, that was a different house …

  “Wisteria?”

  I nodded, dutifully offering Declan a smile. “Thank you.”

  He looked momentarily pained, as if I had knifed him in the chest. Or slit his throat … except doing so to Jasper had appeared to alleviate his suffering …

  Declan wasn’t standing in the doorway anymore. And I wasn’t sure how long he’d been gone.

  A simple buffet was laid out in the dining room, most likely courtesy of Lark. The brownie moved through the house like a ghost, her presence felt but unseen. At least by me.

  Jack was already seated, watching me as I entered. The other seats around the dark wooden table were empty.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  The boy bobbed his dark head. His deep-blue eyes were wide, watching me as if I might attack him. He was eating cereal, though there were scrambled eggs with cheese, sausages, and pancakes being kept warm on the sideboard.

  I fixed a plate, carefully covering the silver chafing dishes, then turned to the table to switch it out for Jack’s cereal. The boy looked at me, startled, but he didn’t protest. I set his cereal off to the side, within reach if he wanted it. Then I moved the syrup closer to him.

  I turned back to the sideboard, pouring myself a steaming cup of coffee from the silver carafe. Jack curled his arm around his plate possessively, shoving scrambled eggs into his mouth.

  Declan had eaten like that when he’d first arrived at Fairchild Manor.

  A tight spot of pain bloomed in my chest, cutting through my numbed senses. I tried to push it away, but it remained lodged there. I took a sip of coffee. It was too hot to drink, taking a layer of skin off the roof of my mouth. I swallowed my gasp of pain, not wanting to startle Jack any more than I already had.

  I turned back to the table. Then, remembering that I was to sit at Jasper’s place at the head of it now, I corrected my course dutifully.

  Jack had already cleared more than half his plate.

  I sipped my coffee, more carefully the second time.

  “Declan took Ruby home,” Jack said.

  “That’s good.” I was completely aware of how wooden I sounded, but I wasn’t certain how to warm my voice. “Her mother … Coral, and her uncle, Jon, will be happy to see Ruby.”

  Jack chewed through the last of his sausages.

  I sipped my coffee, the burn on the roof of my mouth easing further.

  “I have nowhere to go,” Jack said quietly, speaking to his empty plate.

  “Why would you need to go anywhere?”

  He looked up at me and smiled.

  The pinch of pain in my heart faded. I smiled back.

  Jack was halfway through his second plate and a story I wasn’t really following about a basketball game when Grey arrived. My uncle was wearing a light-gray suit, a dark-blue tie, and a white dress shirt. He was also carrying a briefcase, as if he were going to work. And perhaps that was what I was now — to him, to the Fairchild coven. Work. Something to manage, to control.

  Jack stopped talking midsentence, dropping his arms into his lap.

  “Good morning,” Grey said, helping himself to coffee behind me. His words and presence were coated in a false cheeriness and familiarity that cut through the sense of comfort Jack’s chatter had created. “Declan texted to say he’s —”

  “Are you finished your breakfast?” I asked Jack.

  He nodded, not meeting my eye. I pushed my chair back, turning to nod politely at Grey. He was staring at me and his coffee had overflowed. He’d added too much cream, still holding the silver creamer over the china mug. Perhaps he was baffled by my cold rebuff, but I didn’t have it in me to coddle him, or to deal with whatever was in the briefcase.

  “Library?” I asked Jack. Not waiting for an answer or for the boy to follow, I crossed through into the grand entranceway that stood at the heart of the house.

  “Did she eat anything?” Grey asked behind me.

  I stepped into the library, not hearing Jack’s answer.

  As I slowly wandered through the library, I was vaguely aware of Grey following me with his coffee and briefcase, and of Jack somewhere behind him. The white-painted shutters were closed to protect the room from direct sun, but I found the dim light comforting.

  I ran my fingers along the books in the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves nearest Rose’s office, plunking one from the middle and turning it over in my hand to read the cover. The Talisman by Stephen King and Peter Straub.

  That seemed oddly appropriate. Jack skirted around Grey, who had paused to sip his overly creamed coffee a few steps away. The boy eyed me with a strange mixture of bravado and shyness.

  I handed him the book, turning into the office without a word.

  Jack followed, curling up in the corner chaise by the window, already bending his head over the book.

  Behind me, Grey cleared his throat. I looked away from Jack.

  “King? Isn’t that a little mature for him?”

  “I read it at his age,” I said coolly.

  Grey didn’t answer, gazing at the boy.

  “I’m not Jasper, Grey,” I said.

  That statement shook Jasmine’s father out of whatever had been going on in his mind. “Of course not. I … I’ve drawn up compensation packages, including the trust for Ruby and Dawn, as you requested. Though, honestly, I’m not sure anything is expected —”

  “I’m sure you’ve done well,” I said, having no idea what he was talking about or when I’d asked him for anything.

  Grey nodded, crossing to place his briefcase on the desk. He reached for a pretty coaster speckled with tiny rosebuds that sat next to the burgundy velvet blotter. Placing his coffee on the coaster, he opened his briefcase and pulled out three intimidatingly thick file folders.

  Any energy I’d gained from the coffee and conversation with Jack was immediately drained out of me. “Would you outline the details for me? I’m not certain I have the … energy for reading the entire thing.”

  “Already done,” he said gruffly. “The first page is always a summary of whatever is contained within each folder.”

  He set the files in the center of the blotter, apparently thinking I should sit down behind the desk to read them.

  I awkwardly stepped around the desk, pulling the high-backed, deep-brown leather chair out. But I couldn’t bring myself to sit. It felt awkward … wrong. I placed my right hand on the files instead, hoping Grey would leave me in peace if I was polite. “Thank you.”

  My uncle lowered his voice, leaning slightly toward me. “We haven’t found any relatives for Jack.”

  “He’s staying.”

  “With you?”

  “If he wishes.”

  “Will you be … fostering him? Adopting?”

  “Did you draw up formal paperwork when Jasper took Declan off the streets of New Orleans?”

  Grey clenched his jaw. “That is … I’m Declan’s biological father —”

  “But Jasper wasn’t.”

  Grey’s lips thinned. He looked away from me. His face was haggard, paler than normal, and with dark circles etched underneath his eyes. Perhaps I should have noticed his state earlier and softened my attitude accordingly, but for some reason, his grief only sharpened my anger.

  Because what good was his grief for Jasmine now?

  “Would you like to tell me it isn’t any of my business?” I asked edgily.

  “Everythi
ng is your business, Wisteria. Now.” He ground the words between clenched teeth.

  “When Declan returns, you can take up any more business with him.” I settled into the desk chair finally, but only because I was tired of standing. “And he can bring it to me.”

  Grey looked aghast. “You don’t wish … I’m the coven’s business advisor and legal counsel.”

  “But you don’t appear to want to be my advisor, Grey. Would you rather Violet or Dahlia was sitting here?”

  “No.” He turned his light-blue gaze to meet mine. “I would rather have Rose alive and well.”

  “And I’d rather be having breakfast with Jasmine.”

  Grey reeled back in response, but he held my gaze despite the obvious pain I’d stoked. Perhaps I’d allowed my anger to sharpen my words more than I should have, but I couldn’t bring myself to retract the statement. Doing so would have felt like a betrayal of my love for Jasmine. Even dead, I would defend her to my last breath.

  Grey nodded stiffly, looking away from me to gather his thoughts. Then he reached across the desk to open the top file. “I’ll need the financial and property documents signed first. You need to be in control of the money before I can execute any settlement packages. Fortunately, Rose willed her part of the estate directly to you, including this property, with some cash set aside for Declan.” Then he hesitated, rubbing his hand across his forehead.

  Rose would have set money aside for Jasmine as well. But Grey couldn’t bring himself to say it.

  I stared down at the page before me, seeing nothing of the words typed across it.

  Grey cleared his throat. “Jasper willed his entire estate to you as well, though the coven stripped him of most of his property.”

  “Thirteen years ago,” I said wryly.

  He grimaced, then nodded. “If you have any questions, please let me know. There are funeral … a memorial arrangement for Rose to be discussed.”

  “Not for Jasmine?”

  “We were thinking of … hoping for a private ceremony. Contractors need to be brought in to shore up the house before we can conduct a proper search …”

  I nodded, pushing the thought away to be dealt with later. I hadn’t mentioned the deal I’d forged with Kett while Jasmine was dying, not knowing whether or not the vampire had succeeded in remaking my cousin. Not knowing if the coven would accept her if she had survived.

  And either way, there would be no body to find. Kett wouldn’t have left Jasmine behind.

  Rose and Jasper would need to be exhumed, though. Unless I just had the house bulldozed over them …

  “And you’ll need to meet with the Convocation,” Grey said, pulling me from my dark thoughts.

  “A few times, I imagine,” I said wryly. “Though Declan must have already taken care of most of it, regarding the children?”

  “No. For the seat. You do intend to occupy it?”

  I frowned. I hadn’t thought about that. I was fairly certain that doing so would make me the youngest member of the Convocation, maybe by decades.

  “Perhaps …” Grey started to speak, then trailed off.

  “Since you apparently want to be my advisor …” — I waved my hand across the files on Rose’s desk — “… speak your mind.”

  “Perhaps you’d have a conversation with Dahlia?”

  “About joining the Convocation? She’d be interested?”

  He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Not today. And not tomorrow.”

  “But being occupied is a good thing.”

  Grey pinned me with his gaze, and for the first time I could see some of Declan’s features in his jaw and cheekbones. “Being needed. Being useful.”

  “The Fairchild seat on the Convocation should be occupied by someone prepared to speak for the entire coven. Not just the members she chooses to acknowledge.”

  Grey nodded. “Hence the conversation you need to have.”

  “Shall I order her to be kind to Declan?”

  “I believe kindness might be difficult to demand … but we …” He swallowed harshly. “We elders are all aware that we almost lost all three of you, and we couldn’t … we couldn’t …” His voice cracked. He turned away, pacing across the width of the office.

  “Jasper was very powerful,” I whispered, but I wasn’t certain whether I was speaking to myself or to Grey. Either way, it didn’t exonerate any of us.

  He nodded without looking at me.

  Jack turned a page of his book, then mumbled something to himself. His tone was tense, excited. I didn’t remember the story in enough detail to guess at what had intrigued him so much.

  Grey shifted his shoulders, perhaps steeling himself to continue dealing with me.

  I knew I was being cold — even unfeeling, and to the point of being cruel. But I just couldn’t seem to get a handle on myself. And the more days that passed, the more I welcomed the numbness.

  I reached for the first file folder, pulling it closer and scanning the overview page clipped at the front.

  Grey crossed around the desk to stand beside me. As I read, he quietly clarified anything I hesitated over.

  I grew quickly tired of signing my name. But I’d made my choices, and I was caught within the consequences. Walking away wasn’t really an option.

  I wasn’t certain it ever had been.

  I found my Dior briefcase and navy blue trench coat hanging in my closet. Both were pristine, retrieved and cleaned by Lark from the destruction of the manor, but I wasn’t going to need either for the quick trip I had planned into Seattle. I could have hired someone to pack up my apartment and ship my things to Rose’s, but I hadn’t left the property in three weeks.

  I checked my case, pulling out the candles and the extra reconstruction cubes. I wouldn’t need either of them.

  Then I brushed against something gritty at the bottom of the bag.

  I pulled my hand out. My fingers were covered in ash.

  My legs gave out. I sat down hard in the center of the walk-in closet, dumping the contents of the bag onto the floor.

  The ash I’d encountered fell out in a cohesive clump. It hadn’t touched my wallet. No trace of it coated my lip gloss or my phone.

  I stirred my fingers within it, feeling the residual magic — and knowing that if I called a reconstruction forth, I’d be able to see the ash reforming into the contract with the Conclave.

  But had it turned to ash because the contract was now fulfilled? Or because it had been nullified? What if Kett and Jasmine were now nothing but ash themselves underneath the marble stairs of Fairchild Manor?

  A sob ripped through me, then forced itself out. I choked down a second wave of pain, clenching my jaw against the onslaught of grief.

  Then I shakily stood up, leaving the bag and its contents for Lark to tidy once more.

  Declan climbed onto the jet, storming through the galley as if he was claiming his territory. I was already belted into the middle seat, and had been about to inquire why we hadn’t taken off yet. The steward shut the door behind Declan, and the plane lurched into motion.

  “Were you going to mention you were leaving?” Declan growled. He threw himself into a seat in front of me, then swiveled it to face me.

  I frowned, certain that I had actually done so before leaving Rose’s house. I glanced back at the hangar as the jet turned onto the runway, seeing Declan’s Jeep parked to one side.

  “Where’s Jack?” I asked.

  “He has Lark. That was good enough for us at his age.”

  Declan was watching me too closely, scanning my face over and over again. I didn’t know what he was looking for. I didn’t know what he was hoping to find. So I turned away, looking out the other window as the jet gained momentum. I should have called the steward and asked to have our takeoff canceled, delaying my trip long enough to get Jack. Except I just couldn’t push past the numbness and make the decision to act.

  Declan slumped back in his seat with a sigh. “I asked him if he wanted to come or if he wanted to s
tay with Grey and Dahlia. He chose to stay.”

  “With Grey and Dahlia?” I said sharply. “Because they raised you and Jasmine so well?”

  Declan leaned forward, eyeing me closely again. “Why would that be a concern? If you’re only going for three days? That’s what you had Grey book the plane for, isn’t it? Or were you planning to alter your flight plan after takeoff?”

  I looked away from him. Again. I was just so tired. It hurt to talk. To think. To form thoughts into sentences.

  The jet took off, soaring into the clear blue sky. Once it leveled off, Declan thrust himself out of his seat, pacing the aisle back and forth.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I just don’t have it in me to soothe you right now, Declan.”

  That stopped his restless movement. “Soothe me? Soothe me?” He reached out, allowing his hand to hover before me. “You need to let us soothe you, Wisteria.”

  I shook my head. “The contract turned to ash,” I whispered.

  Declan withdrew his hand, sitting down. His gaze was steady on me. “That’s why Ember couldn’t find any copies in the vaults of Sherwood and Pine,” he murmured. “Like you said, yes? It must be part of the magic. Damn xenophobic vampires.”

  I nodded, though I couldn’t remember the witch lawyer offering up that detail, or me relaying the information to Declan.

  “Have you texted him?” he asked.

  I frowned, suddenly uncertain as to where I’d left my phone. Uncertain whether or not it had even been charged. Something about that was stupid … because Jasmine might have texted. Kett might have texted. I reached to undo my seatbelt, ready to race up to the cabin and demand that the pilot turn the jet around.

  But then I remembered that Jasmine had Declan’s number. She would have texted her brother if she hadn’t heard back from me. I let my hands fall to my sides.

  Declan sighed raggedly.

  Silence stretched between us.

  “I’m not running away,” I finally said.

  “I don’t care if you’re running, Wisteria,” he said. “You have every right to run. I’m just coming with you if you go.”

  My heart pinched. And for one terrible, breathless moment, I found myself wishing I could take him up on the offer. Then the pinch of pain, and the glimmer of hope that had come with it, faded until I was numb again.