by Kristen Day
“Not too bad,” I smiled.
He took my glass and placed the bottle, shot glass and black box back inside the canvas bag.
He held the Tupperware container with his palm like a waiter, swept it in front of me dramatically and pulled the lid off; bowing his head formally. Hoping for dessert, I was disappointed at what I was presented with.
He just smirked and in his worst British accent announced, “Next on the menu for my lady: an exquisite course of fresh Atlantic seaweed from the Fortunate Isle.”
“I’m allergic,” I tried.
“And I’m British,” he snickered sarcastically; making me laugh.
“You couldn’t have brought some oranges or mangos? Maybe a kiwi or two?” I asked cynically.
“You have the strongest connection to seaweed…as did Thetis. So just like the coconut milk, you’ll need to eat some each day.” I inspected the slimy mass of green in the container.
“Why do I feel like I’m on ‘Fear Factor’?”
“The tarantulas and cow intestines are next,” he warned; his tone overly foreboding. I would have to keep my gag reflex in check around him. I wouldn’t last a minute on that show. I shoved his shoulder lightly and tentatively selected a short string of seaweed to eat. It was slimy to the touch and I had no idea what it would taste like. I tried to convince myself that it was no different than lettuce.
It didn’t work.
“Okay, here goes…” I closed my eyes and dangled it above my mouth dramatically; head back, eyes closed, and dropped it. The taste exploded in my mouth, but to my surprise I didn’t immediately spit it all over Finn. It was similar to collard greens, just a lot more salty. And uncooked. And cold. But besides that, it wasn’t terrible. I opened my eyes to catch Finn in the middle of a gigantic yawn.
“Leave some oxygen for the rest of us,” I teased him. He just laughed and spread out another blanket. Was he making a makeshift bed for us? When he pulled two pillows I recognized from the couch out of the canvas bag, I glanced up at him in surprise.
“We’re going to sleep out here?” I asked, trying not to appear too eager. Sleeping on the beach in the arms of the hottest guy on earth was exactly what I wanted to do.
“Of course.”
I quickly abandoned my towel cocoon and traded it for a pillow and blanket next to him. My emotions immediately went into overdrive as I remembered what we were wearing…or more accurately…not wearing. His arms pulled me to him and I tucked my head in the crook of his neck, breathing him in. My body recognized the safety of his arms and it instantly relaxed into them. I felt a new kind of vulnerability wash over me. But it wasn’t frightening and I didn’t try to fight it. It felt more like a freedom; a letting go. Our exhaustion stifled the fire that always erupted when our bodies were this close, leaving us with a more raw form of intimacy; made up of pure acceptance and unabated love. It was amazing. And just as powerful.
“Sweet dreams,” he murmured as we both drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 14
I stood before a rustic, weathered wooden door. I rose up onto my toes to peer through the small square window secured with five thin, but strong metal bars. I grasped the wrought iron knob and turned. It gave way under my grip and the door swung open with a low groan. My bare feet scuffled along the cold, cement floor as I cautiously stepped through the doorway. Something felt very
‘off ’. I felt…separated from myself. The perceived distance was substantial and unsettling. The lightness that I sensed told me I was having a reverie, but I didn’t remember leaving my body. Where was I? The indistinctive room where I currently stood refused to unlock any clues surrounding my whereabouts. A small cot with a single threadbare sheet occupied the far corner. One lonely square window gave passage to the afternoon sun streaking across the floor. A modest chest of drawers leaned against one wall; a collection of seashells masquerading the top. I started to advance on the window to see if the view would stir any memories, but my feet were suddenly frozen to the floor as my eyes traveled upward. The entire unassuming wall to my left was scarred with a countless number of lines. Each of them measured at least four inches long, all running vertically. They appeared to have been scratched into the stone wall, leaving them jagged and archaic. As I scanned row after row of lines, I realized there must be thousands of them. My feet thawed enough for me to step tentatively; approaching the wall with bewilderment. I knelt down and ran a finger over what I assumed to be the freshest line. Below it on the floor lay stone shavings; etched out to make way for the line. It was as if someone was keeping count. A subtle inner pull abruptly diverted my attention to the window. I straightened, scuffled to the window and steeled myself as I peered out. When my eyes found only an expansive blanket of deep blue, an unexpected bout of vertigo took my equilibrium captive and I leaned up against the window pane to keep my balance. The cool glass on my forehead eased the queasiness, and I tried looking down instead of out. The soaring elevation of the room was dizzying.
The white beach far below was in the shape of a crescent moon, caressed by the rolling waves. The cobalt blue hue of the water tickled my subconscious.
Small dark forms were milling about on the sand or in the surf; as if they had been let out for recess and were enjoying their limited time outside. When I spotted one figure several meters from the others, my memory flashed and I knew this was a place I’d been before. I had stood on the sands of that beach; the beach where I had seen the old man the first time. And he had seen me. I peered closely below at the figure with the gray hair blowing in the wind. Without warning, his head snapped up and his gray eyes met mine. Even from this far away, I could see the shock on his face. Whatever he had been holding was dropped and forgotten on the soft sand at his feet. When I blinked, I was knocked off balance by an intense moving sensation. And then all was still.
When my eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness, I noticed I was sitting against something rough with my knees pulled to my chest as if I were hiding from something. As I took a breath, the frigid air sliced into my lungs and pierced my throat as it rushed back out through my nose. I shifted my rigid body to the right and heard the crunching sound of dead leaves. The dank, mildew stench condensed the air around me and something scampered across my big toe. I let out a surprised yelp; pulling my feet closer to my body. I heard a noise from what must have been outside of whatever I was being housed in, and froze in terror. A bright light penetrated the blackness, shining directly into my eyes. I squeezed them shut and lifted a defensive hand.
“You done?” a raspy female voice demanded from behind the one hundred watt light blinding me. In my effort to understand what was happening, the allotted time for my answer apparently ran out. “I said…you done?” she repeated with teeming annoyance.
“With what?” I asked from behind my hand, squinting around the brightness. Suddenly a strong hand encircled my arm, yanked me onto my knees, and dragged me out a door. After the metal edge of the storage building slashed my left thigh, sending a sharp pain down my leg, I landed face-down in a patch of mud and weeds. I made an effort to lift myself up and wipe the hardened mud from my skin, but the same hand slammed into my shoulder; spinning my small frame around and landing me right back in the mud, this time on my back. I glared up into the bitter face belonging to a woman in her mid- forties. Her brown hair rested limp against her round face and neck. Her bloodshot brown eyes matched the mud I was currently splayed in, and were emphasized by the dark circles hanging beneath. The wooden spoon clutched in her hand and the radiating pain from both hands reminded me what had prompted this unfounded punishment. Accidentally grabbing a pot with bare hands, I scorched the skin across my palms and spilled the pot’s contents onto the kitchen floor.
Although the floor was already stained from years of disregard, she supervised as I cleaned up the mess with Clorox and water; sending seething pain into my fresh burns. When the tears had started flowing, I was thrown into the shed. Crying was not allowed in our house. It would
upset him. And neither I nor the angry woman glaring down at me wanted to upset him. The severe repercussions would make the singed skin of my hands feel like a loving hug.
“Get up!” his booming voice exploded from the right of us. He stumbled down the brick steps and seized the fabric of my sweatshirt, lifting me to my feet in a split second. “You think that burn feels bad?! You’ll wish you just had a burn when I get done with you!” He swayed closer and I flinched, twisting my head to the side and anticipating the pain. Instead of hitting me, he secured my arm in his much larger hand and contorted it at an odd angle. One more twist of his wrist and I heard a loud pop followed by an immense pressure. The pain that shot up my arm made my knees buckle and I collapsed back in the mud. I felt the cool wetness against my cheek right before I blacked out.
I heard a scream and I shot straight up; eyes wide open with alarm. Suddenly aware that the earsplitting scream was coming from my own mouth, I put my head in my hands. In an instant sturdy, protective arms enveloped my body.
“Stasia! What’s wrong? What happened?” Finn. I shut my eyes and allowed my body with its severely frayed nerves to fall into his stable one. He brushed several unruly strands of aquamarine and blonde hair back from my tear stained face.
“I just…I had a reverie-” I breathed, forcing down the sobs I could feel pulsing in my throat and demanding to be released.
“Pasha your eye!”
“If you tell me they’ve changed colors again, I’m going to scream,” I threatened; my tone deadpan. Finn just chuckled lightly, sat up, and inclined my head to the right as he examined me closer. He smiled, but remained quiet.
“Lemme guess. Pink? Orange?” I joked with him as he continued to inspect my face.
“It’s not your eyes, it’s your eye.” His own blue eyes watched me adoringly as I wondered how I was going to explain one aqua eye and one…purple or yellow. “You’ve acquired another trace.”
“Another…trace?” I stared at him; utterly confused. “On my eye?”
“It’s under your eye, Pasha,” he laughed at me and touched a finger to the skin at the outer corner of my eye. “It’s right here.” Relief that my eye color hadn’t changed was trumped by the mystery of the unknown addition to my features. Nothing says ‘freak’ like a glaring trace on one’s face.
“Are you sure it’s a trace? Aren’t I only supposed to have one?” I asked him; hopeful. His sly smile told me he was more than sure.
“It’s rare but not unusual,” he explained with pride. “The most powerful descendents - direct, Chosen, or both can have multiple traces.”
“So what does it look like?” The suspense was now literally killing me. I was close to running back up to the house in search of a mirror, when he started to dig in the canvas bag.
“Hold on…” He pulled out his IPhone and handed it to me. I held it up like I would a mirror and thankfully the moonlight was bright enough to create a slight reflection on its dark surface.
Below the outside corner of my left eye was a small shape that was hard to make out in the IPhone’s semi-reflective surface. I inclined my head towards the moon so that the light would shine more on my face.
“Oh, wow,” I murmured as my new trace became visible. Just like my hair, this was going to take some getting used to. It was the same blue as my triskellion trace and greatly resembled the infinity symbol; the number eight turned on its side.
“It’s absolutely beautiful.” Finn exalted. He furrowed his brow, “Didn’t you say your hair changed color after a reverie you had too?”
I thought for a minute, “You know, you’re right. It did...” I paused as I realized both reveries had occurred in the same place; the crescent shaped beach. With the same older gentleman picking up shells. I launched into an explanation of the two reveries and the older man I had seen.
“You must have a connection with the old man,” he speculated. “I would guess he’s an ancestor.”
My heart skipped a beat, “Like….like a grandfather?”
“It’s possible,” he told me. I looked out over the waves to the dark horizon. An ancestor. I hadn’t thought about it before, but it would only make sense. My father wasn’t immortal, so he would have had a family. A family that didn’t know about me. My growing hope withered at that gloomy possibility. Either way I knew that if my soul found its way back to that place, I would be compelled to find out.
“So if the reverie wasn’t upsetting, what was?” Finn eyed me curiously and rubbed my back.
I had completely forgotten about the dream my reverie had morphed into.
“Just a bad dream,” I muttered.
“What was it about?” he asked gently.
“Just stuff from the past…” I trailed off. A sigh laced with a whimper made its escape, “Why can’t I just get a good night’s rest like normal people?”
“Because you are far from normal,” Finn smiled down at me; the depths of his blue eyes alleviating my suffering.
“Lucky me.”
He chuckled and readjusted the blankets to shield us from the cool wind that flowed off the waves. The sky was only beginning to lighten, so I curled up in his reassuring embrace.
“I’m the lucky one, Pasha.”
Chapter 15
`
“Are you sure you didn’t murder somebody?”
“I’m definitely about to murder somebody,” I threatened; leering at Carmen. My newest trace had become the talk of the trip back to Bald Head as we hung out on the second level watching more movies. As was to be expected, everyone was throwing out guesses as to what my trace could mean; murder being the most recent hypothesis. My trace wasn’t teardrop, which apparently signified how many people a gang member had killed, but that didn’t stop them from running with it.
“Maybe you did it in your sleep? That’s why you don’t remember!” Phoebe figured.
“That must have been why I saw a bloody knife laying on the floor last night,” Cage snickered and watched me suspiciously. “It’s all making sense now…”
“Yeah, this whole ‘future leader of the Tydes-thing’ is just a ruse. She wants us all to think she’s all honorable and trustworthy, but just when you least expect it - WHAM! Knife to the chest.
Lights out.” Ricker pretended to stab himself dramatically. Ian shook his head at me from the other couch, as if he was disappointed at my unthinkable deception.
The rest of the trip was, for the most part, drama-free except for the once again glaring eyes of Carmen and Ricker. How two people could go from hating each other back to loving each other, and then right back to hating each other in one weekend was beyond my comprehension. It also sounded awfully exhausting. Willow and Liam tiptoed around each other, both waiting for the other to make the first move. Finn was all business, as he was intent on starting the preparations for my journey right away. Since we only had three weeks, my regimen would start immediately. Strength training in the ocean, memorizing a map of the Underworld, and a regular diet of slimy seaweed and coconut milk awaited me once we returned to Lorelei. The fact that Finn wouldn’t be accompanying me did in fact force me to raise the bar for myself. If I had to do this without him, I would soak up every piece of knowledge I could until the time came.
Upon returning to Lorelei and Maren Hall, we ran into Olivia, who was coming out of the elevator as we were getting on.
“Hey Olivia!” I grinned at her. As someone who had earned the nickname ‘Be-otch’ from my roommates, we were extremely surprised when she had offered up her yacht and accompanied us to the Fortunate Isle. After finding out her mother was the therapist who had coordinated my move to Lorelei, I began to see her in a new light. Underneath the attitude was a good person. Her dark hair had been straightened and her dark eyes were accented by smoky eye makeup. Her long black dress skimmed her black stilettos. She looked like she was going on a date. Either that, or to a funeral.
“Hey!” she smiled back at me, and then acknowledged my roommates with a sly nod of t
he head.
“You better be glad my hands are full,” Carmen threatened her with a smirk. We stepped onto the elevator and Olivia stuck a hand out to stop the doors from closing.
“Watch out for the people in your suite,” she raised an eyebrow. “They said they were looking for a girl named Hannah and that she lived in your suite.” I let go of the bag I was holding as my stomach dropped to the floor. The Whitmans were here? At Lorelei? In my suite?
“Didn’t you lock the door when we left?” Carmen asked Phoebe.
“I thought so…” Phoebe frowned in thought. My roommates didn’t know my previous name, Hannah. I had changed it to Anastasia on arrival to Bald Head Island.
“I think I know who they are,” I admitted to Olivia, still in shock.
“Oh good,” she let go of the elevator door, “See ya!” She disappeared around the corner in a cloud of strong-smelling perfume. Phoebe and Carmen looked at me expectantly.
“It’s my adoptive family,” I said with a disconcerted sigh.
“So who’s Hannah?” Phoebe questioned.
“Me,” I answered. “That was my name before I changed it to Anastasia.”
“And they don’t know about any of this?” Carmen swept her arms out; alluding to our ancestry and Lorelei’s true purpose.
“Nope,” I sighed again, but Carmen just smiled.
“This is going to be fun,” she said with a sneer and a twinkle in her eye. I could only pray Laura Beth had not come with them. Carmen would eat her alive. After Phoebe had to physically push me off of the elevator, I braced myself as we entered our suite.
“Hannah, darling!” Dee Whitman embraced me in an awkward hug. She wasn’t usually the hugging type. She was usually worried it would wrinkle her clothes. Currently her dark green tweed skirt and dress jacket matched the black and green plaid shoes accentuating her feet.
