“What’s wrong?” he asked, tilting her chin slightly so that she looked directly at him.
“How? You were all the way up there,” she said, confused, then remembered the strange behaviour of the bracelet. “The stone. It’s glowing,” she said nervously, pushing her hands towards him.
He blinked, then glanced down at his chest. “I think we should go inside,” he suggested, nudging her towards her door.
Thirty- six
Enraptured with the light emanating from her palm, she allowed Callan to guide her to the sofa. Pressing on her shoulder, encouraging her to sit, he said quietly, “Charlotte, I think you need to put it on.”
With trembling fingers, she lifted the chain, holding it up in front of her face. Eyes narrowed against the brightness of its light, she muttered, “Why?”
Hooking a finger beneath his t-shirt, he pulled out the matching necklace to the piece he studied. “Because mine’s doing it too,” he said softly.
Her eyes widened, despite the intense pulsing light from the two orbs.
“Why are they doing that?”
Callan looked around the room, noting the silvery light that danced along the walls. With a slow, even breath, he crouched at her side and explained, “They’re made from the same stone. My wife and I were told never to take them off. I think it’ll stop, if you put it on.”
Nodding, she fumbled with the clasp, her trembling fingers making the intricate movement difficult. Callan took over, his warm hands deftly attaching it to her wrist. The light disappeared instantly, and Charlotte blinked several times to adjust to the now dim room.
Callan remained perfectly still, his hands almost touching hers as he studied her. “Are you alright?” he asked, unable to read her expression.
Shaking her head, she rubbed at her wrist. “No… no it’s itching. Take it off!” She tugged at the chain, becoming hysterical. Tears welled in her eyes, her stomach churning as she tried to roll the chain over her hand. “Take it off!”
Callan rocked forward, onto his knees and reached for her shoulders. Holding her steady, he said, “Charlotte, if you take it off it’ll do it again.”
“I don’t care. Take it off and get out!” she yelled in terror, thrusting her shaking arm at him.
“Okay. If that’s what you want,” he conceded, lowering his hands and flicking the clasp open. The chain slid from her wrist and he stood, looking down at her as he pushed it into his pocket.
She met his gaze, her hazel eyes brimming with tears and murmured, “Thank you. Please, just go…”
He nodded his head once and turned away. Pausing by the door, he placed a small card on the table and said, “My number.”
When the door latched shut behind him, she curled into a ball on the sofa and allowed the tears to fall.
The room was dark when she woke up, the only light that of the street lamp filtering through the blinds at the windows. She didn’t move for several minutes, as she allowed her sleep hazed brain to catch up and consider what had happened before she’d thrown Callan out. There was no logical explanation for the bracelet that she could come up with, so turned her thoughts to Callan. She couldn’t explain the ache in her chest, the strange fluttering in her stomach and the sudden deep sense of loss she felt at that moment, either. Her phone beeped from where she’d left it, at the other end of the sofa and she sat up, reaching for it.
It’s Ferne. Good night last night! Fancy meeting for a drink?
Not remembering exchanging numbers, Charlotte frowned at the screen and tapped a reply.
No, thanks. I feel really unwell today. Another time?
Hangover?
Something like that, yeah.
Are you okay? Do you need some company?
Thanks, I’m fine. I’ll just go to bed and sleep it off. See you at work on Monday?
If you’re sure. Call if you need me, okay?
Sighing as she noticed the low charge symbol on the screen, she went to the bedroom and plugged it in, flopping on the bed. Her chest tightened again. Wincing against the pain, she checked the time. “Too late for the walk-in centre…” she muttered to herself, considering seeing a doctor. Her chest squeezed again, making up her mind.
Picking up her phone, she called the evening doctor and waited for a call back.
In the quiet, dark room, her thoughts drifted to the previous night, to Callan, to the time she’d spent with him that morning. Consumed by her thoughts of him, she didn’t notice herself slipping into sleep.
The ringing phone woke her abruptly. After a brief discussion with a doctor, it was decided she should be seen and she prepared to leave. Pausing by the door, she noticed the small card on the table and took it with her.
I’m sorry I kicked you out, I was scared.
She typed the message as she sat in the waiting room of the local hospital. She didn’t know why, he’d been the one who’d given her the bizarre item in the first place.
Are you at home? I feel I owe you an explanation.
No. I’m out.
Could we meet for a drink?
Not tonight. I’m tied up waiting to see a doctor.
Why? Are you okay?
I’m fine. Just at the hospital. I’ll contact you tomorrow.
Her name was called and she quickly turned off the phone as she followed the doctor into a consulting room.
After a thorough examination, she left the hospital feeling foolish, with a diagnosis of anxiety and advice to see her GP. Shoving her hands into her pockets, she walked head down, out into the carpark.
“Charlotte.”
Her head snapped up to see him leaning against a wall by the entrance. “Why are you here?”
Shrugging, he brushed his long hair back with a hand and said, “I was concerned. Do you need a lift home?”
Taking a moment to consider his offer, she eventually nodded and followed him to his car. She didn’t speak as the streets hurtled by. Callan broke the silence. “Are you okay? Do you need a pharmacy before I drop you at home?”
“No. thank you,” she said quietly, studying her hands. “I didn’t need medication. I’m suffering from anxiety, apparently. Who’d have thought?” she added with a humourless laugh.
“I’m sorry,” he said sadly, pulling up outside her flat. “Do you need anything?” he asked as she unfastened her seatbelt.
Hand on the door handle, she paused and said, “I’d invite you in for coffee and that explanation, but I still haven’t been to the shop and have nothing in.”
“I can manage the explanation without coffee,” he offered with a lopsided smile.
“Okay,” she sighed, pushing open the door.
Not waiting for him to cut off the engine, she left the car and headed to her building. Callan followed in silence.
“Water?” she asked, opening the fridge.
“No, thank you.” He watched her cross the room and curl into the far corner of the sofa and close her eyes with a long sigh.
“You’re tired. We can do this another time,” he said, hovering by the door.
She shook her head. “No, I’d rather hear what you have to say and get some rest. It’s been a really shitty day. Apart from breakfast. That was nice,” she admitted with a small smile. “So, you were going to explain about your dead wife’s bracelet?”
He flinched at her abrupt question and said, “Yes. It has some unique properties. You felt okay before you touched it, and now you’re feeling unwell. I think, if you put it back on, you’d feel better.”
“Really?” she asked, sceptically. “You really think I should put that thing back on after what it did this morning?”
Sitting at the far end of the sofa, Callan faced her, his deep blue eyes burning into hers. “Yes, Charlotte. Really.”
She snorted, shaking her head, and held out her wrist. “Fine. If it kills me, CCTV caught you outside the hospital.”
He dutifully took out the bracelet and fastened it on her wrist as he said, “I’d never hurt you, Charlo
tte.”
Something inside of her squirmed. That something told her he was being truthful, that he was there to help, to save her from whatever was hurting her. Somehow, she knew she trusted him implicitly, and had no explanation as to why.
She looked away, stomach fluttering and skin prickling as his fingers gently brushed her skin, and waited. He laced his fingers through hers as the stone began to glow. Keeping her gaze firmly on the wall opposite, she marvelled at the beauty of the colours the stone was projecting.
A warm, tingling, itching sensation began at the tips of her fingers, slowly moving to cover her hand. “What is that?” she whispered, finally looking to him.
“I’m not sure…It’s nothing bad,” he assured her. With his head slightly bowed she couldn’t read his expression, so she looked at her arm.
The lively, glimmering shafts of light danced over every surface of the room as the sensation spread to her shoulder. As the strange tingling reached her chest, she felt herself physically relax, the dull ache she’d experienced all day finally subsiding.
“Callan, it’s… gone,” she murmured in awe. “The pain’s gone.”
He glanced up, saw she was smiling, and she felt him relax. “Are you okay?”
She frowned, unsure, before saying, “Yeah. I think I am.”
When he squeezed her hand, she squeezed back and smiled, her eyes glittering in the incandescent glow filling the room. She scratched at her scalp with her free hand. “It’s really odd…”
Callan huffed a quiet laugh and looked at her fondly. “Shouldn’t be much longer.”
“What shouldn’t?” she asked, as her head began to buzz. Squeezing his hand tighter, she closed her eyes.
The buzzing rang in her ears, becoming louder to the point of being uncomfortable. As she was about to say she’d had enough, that she didn’t want to do whatever it was they were doing, she felt her body relax, her eyes close and her mind go blank.
“Charlotte?” Callan said softly. “Are you okay?”
She shook her head and opened her eyes, but saw nothing but darkness. She panicked. Fear gripped her, freezing her to the spot. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t see. She began to scream.
“Callan?” Hearing her own voice speak his name, her dreams returned to her. Dreams of a familiar stranger. Visions of impossible things, incredible things, horrifying deaths. Of people she knew she loved but had no names for. People she knew that the familiar woman in her dreams had died for. She knew her.
Only one name resonated in her mind. “Callan?”
“I’m here. What happened?”
She realised her eyes were still closed and forced them to open. He leaned over the sofa, his face inches from her own. His eyes were all she saw. His deep, sapphire blue eyes that she recognised now, knew she could lose herself in. Had lost herself in. Her gaze travelled down, taking in every tiny detail of his face, his perfectly straight nose, his full, soft lips, his strong, angled jaw.
With a deep, steadying breath, she closed her eyes. She remembered that scent. Sandalwood and pine, outdoors. Forests and rivers, mountains, and lakes. Home. That’s who he was, she realised. He was home. Her safety. Her security. Where she belonged.
Sighing his name, she opened her eyes and saw them reflected in his.
His frown of concern faded, being slowly replaced with a grin. “Mo Ghaol.”
As tears welled in her eyes, Callan brushed a tender kiss on her lips. “I’ve missed you so much,” he murmured, not breaking contact. “So, so much.”
“How?” she asked, pushing herself up to sit when he reluctantly pulled away.
In explanation, he opened his palm.
“It survived?” Her hand covered her mouth as she gasped. The ring glinted slightly in the weak light of the room and fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. “The children! Where are they? Are they ok?”
“At home. They are right where you left them; waiting for you.”
With a small smile, he took her hand and slid her topaz and diamond engagement ring onto her finger. His voice thick with emotion, he choked, “Through all our lives together. In all our lives, may we be reborn. That we may meet and know and love again, and remember.”
Her mind cleared, every memory rushing forward with dizzying clarity as the ring settled into place. She looked up, into his eyes, to see her own reflected. Her vibrant, gleaming violet eyes. Callan growled low in his throat, leaning in to kiss her deeply.
“All our lives, Mo Chridhe,” he murmured against her lips as she pulled him down onto the sofa.
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Riftkeepers: Reckoning Page 29
