Beyond Your Touch

by Pat Esden

  But her eyes remained narrowed, like she knew I was lying and was going to demand the truth. Finally, she shook it off. “Yes, toast. I’ll make some cinnamon sugar for you.”

  “Thanks,” I said, heading for the door.

  “Oh, Annie”—she stopped me before I could escape—“Kate wanted me to tell you that everyone’s already down by the Shakespeare garden. She said you were going to help gather today?”

  “Gather? Ah—I hadn’t heard about that.”

  Turned out, when Selena brought me the tea, she’d forgotten to mention that breakfast was going to be at six thirty instead of the usual eight, so we could gather herbs before the day warmed up and the oils in their leaves became less concentrated. The August full moon might have signaled festival time in the djinn realm, but at Moonhill it was a traditional harvest day.

  Since I was late joining everyone in the gardens, I got relegated to cutting rosemary along the outside of the solarium rather than working in the main beds with everyone else. Other than not having anyone to talk to, the job was cushy. The rosemary grew in tall planters instead of the ground, so I didn’t have to stoop or creep along on my hands and knees to cut the stuff. And it smelled wonderful.

  The morning sun warmed my shoulders as I worked my way through the plants, snipping off sprigs and dropping them into a bushel basket. Maybe the tranquilizing effect of Selena’s tea wasn’t totally out of my system or Olya was right about rosemary’s ability to fill a person with good energy, but I found myself sinking into a pleasant rhythm. Snip and drop. Snip and drop.

  Wisps of classical music drifted out from inside the house, blending with the faint hum of the riding lawn mower, undoubtedly being driven by Tibbs or Chase.

  I stopped snipping and held my fingers to my nose, breathing in the rosemary’s scent. It reminded me of crushed pine needles, the scent of the forest floor beneath my feet.

  Turning away from the pots of rosemary, I let my gaze glide beyond the lawns to where the tips of evergreens rose in the distance above a canopy of lesser trees, and to the tallest pine. There was a small ledge near it that overlooked Port St. Claire’s harbor as well as the broad ocean. Chase and I had gone there a couple of times to watch the sun set.

  I hugged myself and sighed at the memory of Chase’s arms around me, the smell of the ocean mingling with the pines as we cuddled and watched the sky darken and the lights of the port come on, the moon rising, the Milky Way glittering to life, everything dreamlike, blissful.

  I crashed back to the here and now, as the far-off drone of the lawn mower stopped and Chase’s voice came from where everyone else was gathered, too distant for me to catch the words.

  Selena giggled about something.

  Zachary shouted, “Booyah!”

  Dropping my clippers in the basket, I decided to go see what was going on, but changed my mind. Luring him over here might be smarter, at least that’s what the thrum inside me was suggesting. I got out my phone and sent him a text:

  Want to talk? Make final plans.

  Fifteen long seconds passed before he replied.

  3:30 at mausoleum? All of us.

  My shoulders slumped and then tensed as I remembered the promise he’d made yesterday on our way to the armory, that he’d swipe the Lamp of Methuselah first thing this morning.

  Did u get the lamp?

  No. Can’t do right now either. Zachary’s with me.

  Don’t worry. I’ll get it. See u at 3:30.

  I slapped my forehead. Shit. Why the hell did I offer to do that? He might have been stuck babysitting Zachary, but how was I going to slip away from Kate and Olya long enough to do anything? And without the Methuselah oil, there wouldn’t be any mission.

  CHAPTER 20

  . . . marked with sacred symbols and filled with everlasting oil. It is said to burn with a flame as hot and smokeless as the genies who served Methuselah and Solomon.

  —In reference to the Lamp of Methuselah

  Chase Savoy Abrams

  “Hello, anybody here?” I walked across the research room’s vestibule and down to the laboratory floor. The lights were dimmed and I couldn’t see anyone, but I’d heard something when I entered: a footstep or maybe it had just been the simmering eggs shifting in the Crock-Pot.

  My sneakers padded noiselessly against the floor as I snuck closer toward the cabinet where the lamp was, my shoulder bag pressed tight against my chest. After we’d eaten lunch, Kate had assigned Selena, Lotli, and me the job of carrying the herbs to the attic and hanging them up to dry, while she and Olya fixed the new wards in the gallery. It had seemed like the perfect time for me to swipe the lamp.

  I glanced at the Crock-Pot, now only partly full of purple eggs. Obviously, Kate and Olya had already taken what they needed for the wards. But one of them could have come back to get something else. I was certain I’d heard something.

  “Anybody here?” I scanned the room again.

  Nothing. And no one. Well, unless someone was wearing an invisibility cloak or a ring forged in the fires of Mount Doom. I chuckled at that like it was a joke. But with my intuition sending up warning flares, it was more frightening than funny. It couldn’t be a shadow-genie. They couldn’t get past locked doors. Maybe someone had gone to retrieve something from a storage room and would reappear any second.

  Bzzzzt! My phone echoed across the silent room. Frick. Why the hell hadn’t I shut it off?

  It buzzed again. I whipped it out of my bag. It was probably Selena calling to warn against taking the lamp right now. “Hello?”

  “Hey, kiddo,” Dad’s voice said.

  I crouched behind a workbench and whispered, “What’s going on?”

  “Looks like we should get out of here later today. Then we’ll—” The connection crackled and I prayed it would get worse, and immediately felt guilty for thinking that.

  I cupped my hands around the phone and hushed my voice even further. “Dad, can you call back later?”

  “It won’t be long. Five days at . . . When we get back, we’ll have to wait until the next full moon. But—” More crackles.

  He hadn’t heard me, so I stayed silent, listening and staring at the lamp only a yard ahead of me, sitting in the cabinet. I ran my finger over my signet ring, then the egg pendant from Lotli. I tried to interrupt. “Yeah, Dad, got to—”

  “It’s going to . . . so wonderful to have your mother back. It’s been so long—you’ll—”

  “Love you.” My stomach burned with guilt as I hung up on him.

  I scrambled to my feet. In one step, I had my hand on the cabinet’s latch. It opened. I reached for the lamp, readying to stash it in my bag.

  The warning bell in my head shrieked even louder and Dad’s voice came back to me, this time in the form of a home-brewed tale he used to tell about my crazy ancestor, Samuel Freemont. Old Samuel had a motto: Who the hell cares why? When your gut says run, bloody hell run!

  My hand recoiled from the lamp. I turned on my heel and fled out of the laboratory, up to the vestibule. Instead of turning toward the basement and elevator, the way I’d come—and the way Kate or Olya would take as well—I bolted in the opposite direction, sprinting down the crystal-torchlit corridor. Darkness closed in as I ran. I fled through streaks of amber and gold light and more dark, as I rounded corners, relying totally on my innate sense of direction, guessing and hitting a dead end once. Finally, I spotted the obsidian-framed mirror. I went through it to the arsenal and out into Tibbs’s office.

  Panting hard, I sank down on a corner of his desk. Not taking the lamp was definitely the right decision. No matter whether it had been my gut or logic that had told me to run, I was glad I’d trusted it. When we got together later, deciding when and who should get the lamp would have to be one of the first things on the agenda.

  After I took another minute to catch my breath and dab the sweat off my face, I left the garage. Houdini streaked out from under the gazebo, tagging along as I jogged to the front door and up the main staircase.
I dashed down the hallways and into the gallery.

  “Stephanie.” Kate’s voice rang out from Hecate’s alcove.

  Crap. Not again. I skidded to a stop and spotted her standing next to the statue with a bowl of purple eggs in her hands. Olya crouched nearby, scooping a mixture of salt, crystals, and dried herbs out of a silver pail and sprinkling them around the goddess’s base. How could I have forgotten they’d be in here?

  Kate tapped a finger impatiently against the bowl. “You’re done hanging up the herbs already?”

  “Not really.” As I strolled toward them, I hiked the strap of my bag up higher on my shoulder and thought up a lie. “I took a break. Houdini needed to go out. He was scratching around in the attic, like he was going to—you know.”

  Kate’s nose wrinkled. “Yes, I know far too well. Nasty beast.”

  “I am glad the cat likes you,” Olya said. “He had a rough start.” She set the half-full pail on the floor and gave him a scratch.

  Kate’s voice sweetened. “When you and your father leave, were you planning on taking the cretin back to Vermont with you?”

  “Ah—” Her question took me by surprise, at least the going-home part, which it shouldn’t have. Of course we might leave. Eventually. Especially if Mother returned and wanted to live elsewhere. But did that mean I’d have to go as well? I offered Kate a shrug. “Well—no. He’s a brat, but he belongs here.”

  “I suppose,” she said. She placed the bowl of eggs at Hecate’s feet and straightened back up. “I was talking to your grandfather on the phone earlier. We have been impressed by you and Selena lately.”

  “Oh?” I lowered my eyes, staring at the eggs, hoping she’d mistake the heat rushing to my cheeks as humility not guilt. If only she knew half of what was going on behind her back.

  Her voice remained sincere and disturbingly nice. “Both of us, and Olya and David, have decided it’s time to have a family meeting once everyone gets back, about the future, the family business . . .”

  She was still talking, but her words barely registered in my head as the anxious feeling I’d had in the research room returned with a vengeance. But this wasn’t a false alarm set off by overthinking. This time every hair on my body stood on edge as a hot clawing sensation raked up the back of my legs and spine, as if something horrible and gigantic were rising up behind me.

  In one swift motion, I swooped down, grabbed the half-full pail of salt and herbs, and spun around. Less than an arm’s-length in front of me, a gigantic oily black shadow with broad shoulders and a thick neck was emerging from thin air.

  He shrank backward, as if startled to see me. But he didn’t move fast enough. I flung the pail at his head. Kate screamed. Olya shrieked. Salt, crystals, and herbs rained down all over. The shadow’s skin hissed and bubbled, smoke fizzling from it. With an earsplitting howl, he transformed into an oily blue tornado and siphoned backward, vanishing into his realm.

  My legs, my body, every part of me shook. I puffed out little breaths, struggling to regain my composure. Holy crap. That was close.

  “Oh, my goodness. Oh, my,” Olya said. “It was huge, monstrous.”

  I took another steadying breath and pulled her into a half hug. “At least, I don’t think we have to worry about him again today.”

  “Indeed not.” Kate chuckled. “I believe you burned his face off.” She cautiously crept to where he’d vanished and brushed her hand down the air. “This won’t do, not at all.”

  I stared at the spot. “He looked like the shadow I saw in here before, Malphic’s spy.”

  “I suspect you’re right.” A drip of sweat ran down her temple, but her eyes remained determined. “Your actions were more than commendable, but I need you to go back up to the attic and finish fixing the herbs with the other girls. Olya and I have to get this new ward in place, as soon as possible.”

  “Sure,” I said. Adrenaline still pumped in my veins, but she was right. I pulled my bag strap back up and started to turn away, but some of the scattered warding crystals ground under my heel and a fresh wave of guilt washed over me. The wards were so important, and they were putting so much time and work into creating them. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “Later—when the men get back from Slovenia and it’s time to go to the realm—you can just remove the wards before Lotli opens the veil, right? I mean, she totally destroyed them the last time.”

  Kate shook her head. “That might have worked with the old wards, but not with these. Even if the ingredients were separated and miles away, they would all still react once Lotli starts to play. It’s going to be quite a mess.”

  “Well, it’s a shame, too,” I said, once more turning to leave.

  “Annie.” Kate’s voice made me glance back. “Throwing that pail was truly an impressive bit of fast thinking.”

  I smiled. “Thanks.”

  CHAPTER 21

  I’ll write my love not on the sand where waves can erase my words, nor scrawl them onto paper where fire can scorch to ash. Instead, I shall carve them into a ring of gold, and place it on your finger.

  —Wedding Announcement

  James William Freemont & Susan Woodford

  It was one of those weird things. Despite everything that had happened, the whole day had seemed to drag on forever. Then, zap, it was three thirty and we were at the mausoleum going over our plan. I told everyone about my encounter with the shadow. They thought it was worrisome. But it wasn’t the first time the spy had made his way through into the gallery and it wasn’t like he’d a chance to see or overhear anything, especially not what we were up to. Chase drew a basic map of Malphic’s fortress—Blackspire. Just prior to the festival, Mom would be in the harem or the nearby baths. We would find her, then turn around and leave at once. He also agreed to steal the lamp while everyone else was at dinner, and I lent him my signet ring in case the lamp had been moved to someplace more secure.

  What felt like a millisecond later, we were back at the house, it was early evening, dinner was over, and I was by myself heading up the main staircase. I intended to go straight to my room and start getting dressed. But, by the time I reached the landing, fears, worries, and a huge dose of sentimentality had taken ahold of me, so I changed my mind and veered toward Dad’s bedroom instead.

  No one saw me sneak to the west wing hallway and slip into his room. Hanging up on Dad’s phone call hadn’t sat well with me. I’d never done anything remotely like that to him before, and doing it now felt even worse.

  I sat down at his desk, opened his top drawer, and took out a pad of paper and pen. As soon as Kate discovered that we’d gone to the realm, she undoubtedly would phone Dad and tell him. He’d be pissed at me for going, pissed at Chase for not putting an end to the plan, and double-pissed at Kate for not catching on to what we were up to. Actually pissed didn’t even begin to describe how he’d feel. But beyond that, I needed to leave him a note, something just for him in case something happened to—

  I set one elbow on the desktop and rested my forehead in my hand. I didn’t want to think about why I might not be able to explain everything to him in person when he got back, that there was a real likelihood that I could end up enslaved or dead.

  No. Don’t think like that, I told myself.

  Then I sucked in a breath and began to write:

  Dear Dad,

  I want you to know that my going to the realm is

  not your fault or anything you could have

  stopped~~~

  The pen’s ink stuttered. I paused, scratching it on a piece of scrap paper in an attempt to get it flowing again. What I’d intended to write next was a sentence begging Dad to not attempt to rescue me and Mom or come to the djinn realm seeking revenge. But now that I’d had a moment to think, I realized asking him to do that was as foolish as trying to herd a swarm of angry wasps back into their nest.

  I tossed the failing pen aside. As I went to get a new one from the drawer, I noticed a yellowed photograph lying upside down. I must have un
covered it when I took the pad of paper out. Across the back was scribbled:

  James, Susan, and baby Stephanie

  I picked it up and turned it over. Mom was lying on a four-poster bed propped up on pillows, holding a newborn me in her arms. Dad stood proudly next to us.

  A smile tweaked my lips. I looked away from the photo and toward the four-poster bed only a few yards away from me. The same bed as in the photo. The same room as well. This had been Mom and Dad’s place, way back when we lived here, back before—

  A searing wave of guilt and shame engulfed me. I closed my eyes against the recollection of Mama kissing Malphic in this room. Grandma cupping my face in her hands. Liar. Liar. Liar, the voice inside me chanted. It’s all your fault, everything that happened.

  Clenching my teeth, I forced my eyes to open, to look at the four-poster bed in front of me as I swallowed back the harsh bitterness of what I’d done, the truth Dad needed to know, the one thing that might heal the rift between him and the family, the shame that belonged to me.

  Determined to right that wrong, I picked up the pen and began to write again:

  I know you love Mother and think getting her back is your battle to fight, but the truth is none of this would have happened if it weren’t for me. No one would have needed to lie to you, if I hadn’t lied first. Grandmother asked me if someone had been visiting Mama at night and I said no. But I had seen someone. I’m sorry. I wish I didn’t have to tell you this. But I saw her with Malphic.

  I know it will be impossible for you to not worry about where I’ve gone and what I’ve gone to do, but give me a chance. I promise, I will return, with Mother. And forgive her, too. She was a victim, just like the rest of us.