by P. G. Forte
Chapter Ten
“So what’s really going on?” Julie asked as they headed south along the largely deserted freeway.
Marc cast his sister a curious glance. “I’m not sure what you mean.” She’d offered to drive and he’d been happy to let her. His eye patch had been custom-made from a very fine mesh that only appeared solid and opaque. It still hampered his peripheral vision more than he liked. Unfortunately, he was stuck with it for now. He felt a little guilty about continuing to mislead his sister, but he wasn’t yet ready to explain to anyone how his eye had grown back, not even her—maybe especially not her. He could lie to most of the others, but sooner or later Julie would have to hear the truth.
“I mean, what’s this trip all about?” Julie elaborated. “The real reason, Marc. We both know we didn’t have to leave town just to hang out.”
“Well, yes and no,” Marc replied. “I mean, you won’t come to the warehouse and I’m not ready to spend time at the mansion, so where would we hang?”
“Marc…”
“Okay, fine. It’s not exactly a secret, or anything, but I have been trying to keep it quiet. The truth is I need to check out some of the artwork at a gallery down there.”
“Artwork?”
“Paintings, to be precise.” Marc paused, not sure how to explain about Elise without Julie getting all bent out of shape like she had about Drew the other night.
His sister shot him another sidelong glance. “So does this have something to do with that woman you were trying to track down last fall? She was an artist, wasn’t she?”
So much for easing into the subject. “Yeah. Elise. We owe her, Jules. She helped us out a lot—what with finding Conrad and everything—and I’m concerned about what that might have cost her. I need to make sure she’s okay.” There were other things he was worried about, other things he needed as well, not the least of which was to make certain Elise had not been involved in the attack on him, but that was enough for now.
“Makes sense. How’s the gallery factor in? You didn’t just throw darts at a map or anything, did you?”
“No, I heard a rumor. There’s a new artist whose paintings are on display there. Someone said they look a lot like Elise’s.”
Julie’s hands tightened on the wheel. When she spoke her voice was strangely quiet. “Lotta rumors goin’ around these days. So…you think you’ll be able to tell if they’re hers just by looking at them?”
Marc nodded. “I think so.” It defied rational explanation, and he was more than a little reluctant to get into the “why” of it tonight. But he didn’t just think so; he was certain of it.
“Yeah.” This time it was Julie who nodded. “You’re probably right.”
Surprised, Marc cast another sidelong glance at his sister. Was Julie just a little too blasé about his newfound skill? The fact that she was his twin coupled with her matter-of-fact acceptance of his claim suggested that perhaps she was dealing with her own emerging talents. Perhaps when they finally did get around to having that talk they needed to have, the one where he could level with her and tell her everything he’d learned about the two of them—what they were, who they were, all the things they supposedly could do—perhaps she wouldn’t be as surprised as he’d always thought she’d be.
In the meantime, however, Marc had something else on his mind. Their conversation had just sparked an unpleasant realization. This was not the first time he’d had this discussion. He’d made virtually the same claim during his conversation with Drew. Right now, Marc was regretting his candor. He’d grown comfortable with Drew in the past few months, comfortable enough to let down his guard, perhaps a little too comfortable. His friend’s response had been eerily similar to his sister’s. But whereas Julie knew too little about Infragilis, Drew knew a little too much. His sudden lack of skepticism was not a good sign.
Marc scrubbed his hands over his face. Perfect. Another potential fire he’d have to put out upon his return to the city. Just what he needed.
“You okay?” Julie asked, eyeing him worriedly.
“Yeah, fine.”
“So what do you plan on doing once you’ve found her?”
Marc turned his gaze out the window as he thought about what to say. He couldn’t tell Julie that he intended to demand Elise return to the city with him. That he’d drag her there by force if he had to and keep her locked up in his warehouse until she told him what he needed to know.
If he said any of that, Julie would likely take the next exit off the freeway, turn the car around and drive them right back to the city. He couldn’t even blame her. Was he really that person now?
He shook his head. “I don’t even know.”
“You don’t know?” Julie shot him a skeptical look. “How can you not know? You plan everything!”
“I do not.”
“Let’s start with the basics. What are you going to do if you find her? What are you going to say?”
“I told you; I don’t know.” Marc reined in his frustration and grasped for another topic. “But enough about that. Why don’t you tell me more about you and your friend Christian.”
“Omigod,” Julie groaned. “Not you too?”
Marc frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’m tired of everyone butting in with their opinions on my love life.”
“Love life, huh? So…you’re more than friends now?”
“No, but that’s not the point. Everyone just needs to chill. Because, right now, I’m sick of it. Everyone’s either pushing me at some guy, or they’re warning me off. Brennan, Armand, Christian, even Kevin—no one’s ever happy, no matter who I hang out with, until I start hanging out with someone new, then suddenly the guy who wasn’t good enough before is the only guy I should ever see. Never mind that, by then, whoever he is, he’s generally taken himself out of the picture! Believe it or not, Marc, I can make my own decisions.”
“Stop overreacting. I never had a problem with Brennan—or with Armand, either, and I don’t even know who Kevin is! So cut me some slack. What are you talking about? Who’s out of the picture?”
“All of them, okay? Armand left town the other day. According to Damian, that’s my fault—which is real funny, coming from him. As for Brennan, he doesn’t work for Conrad anymore. I sent him away months ago.”
“You sent him away? How come? Did you take over for Damian or something?”
“Working there wasn’t healthy for him, so I asked Conrad to let him go.”
Marc couldn’t help joking. “So that really was your fault.”
“Funny.”
“How’d you get rid of Armand? Book him a flight somewhere and tell him Conrad suggested he give you some space?”
“You know, I’m really not feeling this trip, anymore. Maybe we should just turn around?”
Marc relented. “C’mon, you know I’m only kidding. But, seriously, if you’re the one making the decisions and those decisions aren’t making you happy, you gotta expect a little butting in, right?”
“No, actually, I don’t. I hate to break it to you, bro, but not every decision is gonna make you happy. I didn’t want to break up with Brennan. I really cared for him and we got along pretty well most of the time. But, in the long run, none of that mattered. Letting him go was the right thing to do.”
“And Armand?”
“He’s just being stubborn, that’s all. I think he’s doing it to punish me.”
“For what?”
“For not always agreeing to do things his way! But, you know what? Most of the time he doesn’t have a clue about what’s going on with me. So, if he thinks he can order me around and I’m just gonna fall in line with whatever stupid plan he makes, then he can think again.”
“Sounds to me like you’re both being stubborn.”
Julie shook her head. “Plus, his involve
ment with our mom freaks me the fuck out. I don’t know how to deal with it.”
“Our mom?” Marc stared at his sister in alarm. “You haven’t told him anything, have you—about us, or our background, or anything like that?”
“Marc, what is wrong with you? Of course I haven’t. How could I tell him anything? You don’t think Conrad’s gone and changed his mind about that all of a sudden, do you?”
“No, I guess not.” Marc sighed. Going against Conrad’s expressed wishes—once an unthinkable proposition—was no longer as impossible for him as it once was. Why shouldn’t the same hold true for Julie?
“See, and that’s half our problem right there. Every time we’re together, it’s all I think about. He has no idea why I’m bothered and I can’t explain. I don’t know if we’ll ever get past that.”
“Well, hell.”
“Yep. Pretty much.”
“I’m sorry, Jules. I didn’t know.” He thought his sister had it easy, that she flitted from guy to guy because she enjoyed it. He’d envied her. But now it seemed that she’d been making do with what was at hand, settling for what she could have rather than what she really wanted.
On the other hand, maybe he still envied her, because doing that was still better than what he was doing: bending all his efforts to find the one woman who, it seemed, didn’t want him.
“So, you and Christian…?”
“Are friends,” Julie replied firmly. “Just friends.”
“Got it.” At least, he sure hoped he did—and he hoped everyone else in the family understood that as well. Especially Georgia. “But you know, if it ever gets to be too much for you there, you can always come live at the warehouse. There’s plenty of space. You could do whatever you want. There’d be no one to bug you or try to interfere.”
Julie smirked. “Except for you, I assume?”
“Well, yeah. Sibling privilege and all. But on the bright side, you could try and interfere with me as well.”
“When you put it that way, how can I resist?”
“So you’ll do it?”
“I’ll think about it.” But the way she said it was not encouraging and the determined way she returned her focus to the road, signaled the end of that topic of conversation.
But sooner or later, Marc promised himself, they would continue this discussion and he would find a way to convince her.
Several hours later, they pulled up in front of the small local inn just down the road from the art gallery, where Marc had made a reservation. His main focus, once they arrived there, was to get inside, out of the early morning sunlight, and get a few hours’ sleep. He’d have to be up soon if he wanted to visit the gallery during business hours. It took him a moment to notice his sister’s odd behavior.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
Julie’s face was pensive. “It all smells so…familiar, doesn’t it?” she asked, taking in deep breaths of the sea-scented air.
Marc sniffed experimentally and then shrugged. “It smells like the ocean.” Hardly a familiar scent since they’d spent most of their lives avoiding it.
Julie shook her head impatiently. “No. Beyond that. I’m talking about the trees and the land, the air itself—all of it. Don’t you know what I mean?”
Marc tried again. “Nope. Not really.” He smelled pine and cedar from the trees overhead, exhaust fumes from the cars in the parking lot, but not much else. The salt air blunted his senses in a way that left him frustrated. It shouldn’t have surprised him that Elise would pick a location like this—someplace where he’d be hard pressed to sense her even if she were close at hand.
Now that he thought about it, it was the same thing she’d done with her oil paints in the city, which begged the question, who was she really hiding from and how long had she been attempting to fly under their radar?
Julie woke up hungry. She wasn’t surprised to find herself alone in the motel room. She could hear the maids in the corridor outside her door and briefly considered inviting one of them in for a quick bite, but they passed her door without knocking. Marc must have put out the “do not disturb” sign. Julie couldn’t decide if she was grateful for his consideration in letting her sleep or annoyed that he’d unwittingly cheated her out of a hot meal. She’d gotten spoiled living at the mansion. She’d gotten used to having breakfast, fresh and ready, whenever she wanted it. Today, she’d have to make do with the last of the blood bags, which Marc had thoughtfully left for her along with a note promising he’d be back within a couple of hours. Unfortunately, even though it was the middle of the day, she didn’t feel like waiting a couple of hours. She wanted to explore.
On their way here, they’d passed several places that had seemed to call to her. The closest was a small café and gift shop, just down the road, within easy walking distance of the inn. She decided to head there first, grateful for the tall trees that shaded the road and provided such excellent cover from the sun.
The building that housed the shop wasn’t large, but it still managed to practically fill the small lot on which it was set—a narrow strip of land bordered by the road on one side and the cliff on the other. Just enough space had been cleared of trees to allow for the building, the adjacent parking lot and a short flight of stairs leading to a small patio overlooking the sea.
Once inside the building, Julie was surprised to find that the “café” was little more than a lunch counter squeezed into one corner. Most of the space was given over to an eclectic collection of local arts and crafts. She spent several minutes happily browsing amid the shelves of woodcrafts and woven goods, candles, soaps and sachets, local preserves and honey—the scents of which were once again achingly familiar.
Her gaze kept returning to a series of framed black-and-white photos on one far wall. She drifted closer, her eyes drinking in the details, her brain automatically colorizing the scenes, as though she’d seen it all before.
Her heart beat a little bit faster as she recognized the mid-century clothing and hairstyles of the people in the various photographs. The odds were slim, so very slim, that she would find what she was looking for, and yet she couldn’t stop hoping.
The pictures appeared to have been shot locally. Julie’s sense of anticipation increased. She recognized an earlier version of the patio—the view the same, the furnishings different, the trees a little less gnarled. And then there she was. Julie’s breath lodged in her throat when, amidst a smiling group of hippies in one of the shots, she spied a very young, very pregnant woman. A woman whose face was freakishly similar to the one that had stared back at her from her mirror every day for the last twenty years.
I’ve found her. I’ve freaking found her.
Tears sprang to Julie’s eyes. As usual, whenever her emotions spiked, keeping her fangs sheathed was an effort. She covered her mouth with a shaking hand as she fought her body’s instinctive reaction.
Impossible. So impossible.
She moved closer, eyes riveted. She was actually reaching for the picture, intending to take it off the wall, when a voice at her side startled her.
“Excuse me. Those aren’t for sale.”
Julie jumped in surprise. “What did you say?” Her heart filled with even more foolish, improbable hopes as she turned to stare at the woman who had come up beside her—so quietly that she hadn’t even heard her approach.
“Those photographs.” The woman gestured at the wall in front of Julie. “Please don’t touch them. They’re not for sale. They’re part of the décor.”
“Oh.” Julie’s heart sank. Wrong woman. Her eyes were too green, her hair too light, her skin too freckled. The tiny, disappointed sound that left Julie’s lips sounded embarrassingly close to a sob. “I’m sorry. I…”
“Oh, honey! Now what’s wrong?” the woman asked in concern. “I didn’t mean to upset you!”
“No. You didn’t.” Julie shook her head.
The woman’s sympathetic tone was not helping her regain her composure. She glanced again at the picture on the wall and spoke the first words that came to mind. “It’s just…that’s my mother.”
“What? Who?”
Julie could only point. “That girl there.” How pathetic was it that she didn’t even know her own mother’s name? As soon as she got back to the city she was going to corner Armand and…no. No, she wasn’t. But she was definitely going to sit down with Conrad for a serious chat. She understood he was trying to protect her, but enough was enough.
“Are you sure about that?” Julie’s new friend sounded skeptical. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but that picture was taken over forty years ago. That girl would be almost my age by now. She’d be a little old to have a daughter your age.”
“No, she… I don’t mean…” Shit. This was precisely why she wasn’t supposed to talk about these things, wasn’t it? Way to go, Julie. Way to prove Conrad’s stupid point.
“Oh, wait!” the woman exclaimed. “I get it. You’re talking about the baby she’s carrying. That’s your mother?”
“Babies,” Julie replied automatically—again, before she could stop herself. “There were two.”
“That’s right, that’s right.” The woman nodded excitedly. “Now I remember. Damn, that takes me back a ways. She always did insist she was carrying twins. Not that I doubted her—when it comes to her children, I’ve often found that a mother just knows. I’m Linda, by the way.” Linda held out her hand and Julie had no choice but to take it.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to. Lately, touching her mother’s belongings or even being around people who’d known her elicited such strange responses. Kissing Armand last winter, for example, had left her feeling guilty, confused and so very frightened, but with no idea why. But as Linda’s hand clasped hers, all Julie felt was a warm, nurturing vibe, almost a motherly feeling. Friendship and peace washed over her, making her feel safe and comforted. She couldn’t help but smile. “I’m so glad to meet you.”
“Oh, me too, honey. Me too. I’ve always wondered what became of her. Desert Rose—that’s what she called herself back then. I don’t imagine she kept the name; most of us didn’t. I went by Starchild for a while myself, if you can imagine. And you say you’re her granddaughter?”
