by Krista Wolf
He trailed off with a shrug. “At least I’ll get to have a white Christmas.”
Kara looked outside. The snow was beautiful now that it had stopped. Her eyes shifted to his, and it was almost like he knew what she was thinking. Jeremy took her by the hand.
“You know,” he said, “I never apologized for what happened. I never got to tell you—”
“It’s okay,” she said.
“No,” Jeremy frowned. “No, it’s not. When I got the assignment… when she broke us apart, I was livid at first. I hated her for it. And I was crushed too, Kara. I want you to know I was miserable without you.”
But not so miserable as to call, she thought silently.
“We were gone for months. Off the grid. Nothing we could do. And when we finished, I tried to get back,” he explained. “I wanted to—”
“Jeremy stop.”
Kara squeezed his hand. She’d decided long ago that if it ever came to this reunion, there were two ways it could go. Up until today she would’ve chosen the wrong one. But not now.
“Listen, it’s okay,” Kara told him. “Really.”
A silence settled between them as they read each other with their eyes. She loved Jeremy, totally and completely. He even loved her back. Kara was sure of it, as much as she was sure of anything. But ultimately, when it came down to it?
His first love would always be the Order.
At least for now.
“I love you,” she smiled up at him. “You know I do. And I’m glad we… reconnected.”
The concern, the worry, even most of the weariness left his face. He smiled back at her — that young, innocent, Jeremy smile. The one from their lost summer… the one from the Estate gardens. The one she’d held locked away in her heart.
He crushed her against him, and there was nothing else between them. No distance at all. No complications.
It felt wonderful.
“I love you too,” he said.
They held on for a long while before finally stepping back from each other. Just as they did, Logan walked up behind them. It made Kara wonder how long he’d been there.
“You ready?” he asked. “Car’s here.”
She nodded. Sniffed a little. Smiled.
“Be careful,” Jeremy warned as they parted ways. He looked at them both. “This one can be a little crazy.”
“I will,” Kara promised.
“I was talking to him,” Jeremy smirked. He extended his arm. Logan took his hand and shook it firmly. The two men laughed as Kara cleared the beginnings of a tear from the corner of one eye.
“Piss off, Jeremy.”
Kara let out a long sigh as the car pulled away from the Averoigne. It was a big car, with deep, heated seats. Plenty comfortable. She could thank Xiomara for that at least. Glancing back, she took one last look back at the hotel’s snow-covered gables, then turned her attention back to where it really belonged: finding her way into a much-deserved nap.
“So it looks like you’re stuck with me,” she told Logan with a yawn.
“In the land down under,” he laughed. “Yup.”
“That okay with you?”
Logan stretched out on his back in the big leather seat. Without asking, he pulled Kara on top of him. “What do you think?”
A day or two ago, she would’ve resisted. But not now. Not after what they’d been through. Besides, she was too tired. And also…
And also you don’t want to.
Kara snuggled in on top of him, resting her face against his big chest. His body was warm and comfortable — the absolute perfect place to fall asleep. He kissed her forehead.
“So what happens now?” she asked dreamily.
Logan shrugged and began playing with her hair. “That’s up to you.”
“In what way?”
“In every way,” he said.
He smelled wonderful. Masculine. Like… well, like Logan.
“I think you know where I stand,” he said. “At least by now you should. And if you’re done resisting my many charms,” he chuckled, “I’m through pretending as well.”
Kara nuzzled him. “Pretending what?”
“Pretending we don’t still love each other.”
The words hung out there for second or two as Kara turned them over in her mind. She allowed herself to be comforted by his breathing. His heart, beating just beneath her cheek. The steady thrum of the car as it continued down the road.
“Maybe this is our time,” he went on. “Last time… well, we were just kids.”
“I was a kid,” she murmured. “Nineteen, anyway. You were an adult.”
“A kid at heart though,” said Logan.
“Immature,” Kara agreed. “Juvenile.”
“I’m still Juvenile.”
She laughed. “No argument there.”
They rode on for a little while, melding against one other. Logan’s arms were around her now. They made her feel safe and secure.
“What do you think?” he asked casually. “Maybe we give it another shot?”
Kara’s mind had quieted. There were no voices, no snarky advisements for her this time. If she spoke at all, whatever was said would be coming from her heart.
“What about last night?” she asked, a little hesitantly.
Logan shrugged without missing a beat. “Last night was last night.”
It certainly was, thought Kara.
“Besides, I don’t think you really love him.” He curled a lock of her hair around one big finger before continuing. “Do you?”
She thought about it for a moment. Examined the question from all angles.
“As a friend I do,” she said finally. It was a good answer. An honest answer. “But with Jeremy, I’m afraid that’s all it’ll ever be.”
A silence settled over them again, broken only by the rhythmic bump of imperfections in the road. A minute passed. Two. She started wondering if maybe he drifted off to sleep.
“Well if you’re that obsessed with me I guess we could see what happens,” she sighed in answer. “After all, you went through all this trouble to get yourself put on this assignment with me.”
Logan’s chest rose and fell in a deep chuckle. “You wish.”
“I know,” smiled Kara.
In truth she didn’t know. But she suspected. And her suspicions lay not with Logan, but with Xiomara.
Did she put us together on purpose? Kara thought so. And beyond that, an even more complex idea: that maybe, just maybe, her assignment had been a sort of apology for what had happened years ago… when Jeremy had been torn so quickly and crudely from her arms.
Putting her here, wedged between two ex lovers. Forcing her to decide. Giving her the opportunity to reconnect if she wanted to, and to move on if she didn’t…
A chance at resolution.
It would be exactly the type of thing Xiomara would do.
Kara sighed out loud, and Logan hugged her just a little tighter against him. The gesture was sweet. Genuine.
“So we take it slow?” he asked.
“Yeah. See what happens.”
“No promises,” Logan added.
“And we try not to act like assholes,” she smirked. “This time around.”
“Sounds good.”
Kara looked up into his hard brown eyes. On a whim, she leaned in and kissed him. It was a real kiss finally; entirely free from guilt. One without restraint, or inhibition, or explanation. Logan kissed her back and she melted into him, their lips playing softly against one another’s as their tongues danced.
There was no hurry, no sense of urgency. Just a primal need to be close again, to be with one another and not feel badly about it. She and Logan kissed like that for a long time, in the quiet universe of the moving car, while the miles stretched out behind them.
Then came sleep.
It had been a long time since Kara could remember being this content. Her eyelids were heavy — they felt like they weight fifty pounds each. Already she could feel them clos
ing…
Suddenly she bolted upright, her eyes flying open in alarm.
“Holy shit!”
“What?” asked Logan groggily.
“The recording,” Kara said quickly. “The video equipment!” Her whole body went cold. “Do you think Jeremy remembered to erase it?”
Logan’s half-grin wasn’t making things better. He stretched his arms overhead and yawned.
“Not a chance,” he smiled as he drifted off to sleep.
Ready for more
Chronicles of the Hallowed Order?
First of all, thanks for taking a chance on Ghosts of Averoigne. Here’s hoping it (almost) melted your kindle!
If you loved the story, I’d be extremely grateful if you could leave a review on Amazon. Even a sentence or two makes a big difference to an author, as well as helping other readers to discover the book.
Be sure to check out Book 2 of the series: Beyond the Gates of Evermoore. Below you’ll find a preview of the amazing cover, plus the first several chapters so you can check it out for yourself.
Thanks and enjoy!
Krista
One
Melody hurried along the halls of Blackstone Manor, struggling to keep up. It seemed no matter how fast she moved, she was still lagging behind. Which made no sense really, because the woman she was following was little more than half her size.
“The ball is tomorrow night,” said Xiomara. “But there are few things we need to go over first, so pay attention.”
The small African woman turned a sharp corner, causing her colorful kaftan robe to flare out behind her. Melody stopped gawking at the scenery and picked up the pace. It took some effort, but eventually she caught up.
“A ball? I thought you said it was a cotillion?”
“It’s a ball,” Xiomara said, “with a cotillion in it.”
Melody still looked confused. Xiomara’s mouth twisted into a frown.
“Forget the terminology Ms. Larson, and take it for what it is? Just another stupid fucking dance.”
Melody bit her tongue. Nothing the old woman said surprised her much anymore, not even her vast vocabulary of colorful swear words. Luckily she was learning that when dealing with Xiomara Magoro — the Head of the Hallowed Order — remaining silent was usually the best course of action.
“Anyway, you’ll be leaving tonight. Momentarily in fact. There’s a car waiting out front, and—”
“Right now?” Melody’s mouth went dry. “But I’m not ready! I— I didn’t get to pack. I don’t even have a dress!”
“Oh we packed for you,” said Xiomara. “Dress and all.”
The whole thing was strange — more than strange, actually — but Melody would never say so. She was way too excited. Her first real assignment! She had a thousand questions, but right now she was afraid to ask any of them.
The Head of the Order led her down a stone ramp, into another part of the Manor. Melody’s eyes went everywhere, checking out everything. Though she’d been living at the Blackstone for almost a year now, she still felt like a tourist. This entire wing — the one forbidden to acolytes — was new to her.
“Ah,” said Xiomara, stopping before an old oaken door. “Here we are.”
She pulled a long key from inside her robe and inserted it into the lock. The door swung open heavily, with an avalanche of dust. It looked like a closet. A big closet.
“Stand back,” said Xiomara, clearly annoyed. “You’re blocking my light.”
Melody stepped to one side as the old woman began rummaging through a series of dusty shelves. She saw boxes, cases, containers. The glint of gold, a flash of silver. There were stacks of cash too — old bills, not the new ones. Xiomara shoved them aside like they were worthless paper. None of it made any sense.
Since when has this place made any sense?
“Ah! There we are.”
Xiomara stepped back into the hallway with a triumphant look that was almost a smile. Something long and gold dangled from her grasp. “Come with me,” she told Melody. “And close that door.”
She did as she was told. A few minutes later they were back in a familiar part of the Manor. Xiomara stormed into the library and Melody followed, struggling again to keep up. She pointed to a young man and woman hunched over one of the timeworn tables, speaking to each other in low tones.
“Silvera. Alvarez. Piss off, please.”
The pair gathered up whatever they were working on and left quietly. Melody didn’t even wait for Xiomara’s gesture to take one of the still-warm chairs.
“Now then,” the Head of Order said. She winced only slightly as she slid her tiny frame into the seat across from her. “Down to business…”
Melody folded her hands on the table. If there was one thing Xiomara hated, it was interruption. She was determined to listen.
“You’ve been chosen for something that seems inconsequential,” Xiomara began, “but which is very important. More so than you know. More than I’m even willing to tell you, so keep that in mind.”
Her heart raced. Her body tingled.
This is going to be good!
She nodded obediently.
“You’ll be traveling to Evermoore, a meticulously restored eighteenth-century mansion, deep in the plantation fields of Louisiana. It’s an ancient place, on ancient grounds. You’re to treat it with respect, as well as its owner, Lady Neveux.”
Melody knew some of this already. She didn’t say so. She wanted to hear everything, so she kept silent.
“The owner is very old, very eccentric,” Xiomara went on. “She used to hold this ball annually, but now throws it only on the years she actually remembers.”
The Head of Order paused to shift her weight around in the wooden chair. The result was apparently unsatisfying. She still looked uncomfortable.
“Your goal will be very specific. Here’s the part where I need you to pay close attention.”
Melody could only imagine what she was being sent to investigate. In her short time at the Hallowed Order, she’d been witness to incredible things. As an acolyte, she’d already seen evidence of paranormal activity most people only dreamed could be real. And her ‘gift’… Xiomara had been instrumental in showing her how to use that as well. To cultivate its power. To wield skillfully it rather than fear it, even when—
“Am I boring you, Ms. Larson?”
She gulped hard and shook her head. “Um, no. No, of course not!”
“Good,” said Xiomara. She eyed her shrewdly. “Because the window of opportunity here is a small one. Small and narrow and rapidly closing. This is perhaps the only chance we’ll ever have.”
“The only chance at what?” Melody couldn’t help but ask.
“At acquiring the egg.”
Melody blinked. This time she didn’t even try to hide her confusion. “Egg?”
“Yes,” Xiomara replied. “A carved ivory egg, to be exact. The surface is chased with gold and precious metals. Inlaid with jewels. Eight inches tall, and—”
“A jeweled egg…” Melody searched her memory. “You mean like a Faberge egg?”
“Very much so,” Xiomara replied. She looked almost pleased at the reference. “Only much older. Much more valuable.”
“An egg.” The word sounded flat. Unromantic.
“A very important artifact,” Xiomara corrected her. “But yes. An egg.”
“And where do I find this… egg?”
“That we don’t fully know,” said Xiomara. “But it’ll be somewhere on the plantation. Either hidden within the Manor itself or possibly on its grounds.”
“Hidden?”
“We’re not sure,” the Head of Order admitted. “It may be hidden. It could also be in plain goddamn sight. Wherever you find it, you’re to take possession of it immediately.”
Melody’s brows knit together, forming a crease between her eyes. “So I’m stealing it?”
Xiomara’s mouth went tight. Her eyes fixated on Melody’s, darkening just a tiny bit.
/> “You’re not stealing it,” she said evenly. “Let’s just say you’re… recovering it.”
For a moment Melody was tempted to read her. To use her powers, even a little bit. Maybe she could lower Xiomara’s guard, get into her mind. Unmask whatever secrets she kept there…
“Ms. Larson,” spat Xiomara. Her tone was foreboding. Deadly serious.
“Y—Yes?”
“You’re not considering what I think you might be considering,” Xiomara seethed. “Are you?”
“No,” she answered quickly. “Never.”
“Let’s fucking hope not.”
The woman stared at her just a second longer than was comfortable before finally continuing. Lifting her arm, Xiomara held up a breathtaking jeweled pendant on a woven gold chain — the object she’d taken from the strange closet. Melody had forgotten all about it.
“This,” she said reverently, “is the Heart of Isolomara.”
The amethyst pendant dangled between them, glimmering a rich purple in the library’s warm light. Melody found herself staring it at almost hypnotically.
“It’s one of three sister jewels. Flawlessly cut, perfectly set.”
“Sister jewels?”
“While you are a guest of Evermoore you will wear this,” said Xiomara, completely ignoring her. Then, more sternly, she added the word: “Always.”
Melody reached for the chain but Xiomara pulled it back slightly.
“You are never to take it off,” she added. “And I do mean never.” The old woman’s eyes sparkled dangerously. Deep brown irises. Blue rims, where the pigment had worn away due to age. Melody saw an almost limitless intelligence there. Vast wisdom.
“Do you understand?” the old woman was saying.
“Yes,” Melody nodded solemnly. “Yes, I understand.”
“When do you take it off?”
“Never.”
“Okay then.”
This time she allowed her to take the pendant, and Melody slipped it over her head. It hung low and heavy, between her breasts.
They spoke only about a few more things — small details she needed to know about the plantation, the mansion, the mission itself. While she listened, Melody made a promise to herself: no matter what happened, no matter what she needed to do, she would not fail. She wouldn’t return to the Blackstone without the egg.
