Watcher (The Shining Ones Book 1)

by Shawnee Small

  A Japanese woman dressed in a severe black dress led us down a plush zebra-striped carpet as beautiful, rich hipsters dined all around us. I stood, staring.

  “Impressive, is it not?” asked Adam, above the din of diners.

  “You could say that,” I replied, still gawking.

  The hostess glared at me with arms crossed. I got the hint and hurried toward where she stood at a set of stairs.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, turning to Adam.

  “You will see.” He smiled at me.

  While downstairs was all steel and glass, the top of the restaurant was altogether different. There wasn’t one bit of metal, for starters, except for the staircase. Everything here was bamboo.

  The hostess gestured at our feet, indicating that we should take our shoes off. Adam slipped off his loafers and handed his shoes and mine to the Japanese woman in the severe dress before she gave us a small bow and disappeared behind a set of lacquered sliding doors at the other end.

  I looked at Adam questioningly. He reached out for my hand and led me back toward a private room. The tingling was maddening, but I tried to ignore it as he slid back the paper partition noiselessly.

  Inside, the room was cozy, yet elaborate. Woven mats covered the entirety of the floor while a low-slung mahogany table took up prime occupancy in the middle of the room. On the tabletop were trays of what appeared to be sushi and a teapot with matching cups. Brightly colored cushions had been spread throughout the space for lounging, and suddenly I wondered how much noise people could hear through the paper-thin screens. It was easy to imagine what could go on if it weren’t for the fact that we were in the middle of a high-end restaurant.

  “Come on.” He led me through the door before sliding it closed behind us. “What do you think?” he asked, an expectant look on his face.

  “Um, it’s very pretty,” I replied, trying not to look into his searching eyes.

  He frowned slightly before motioning for me to sit down at the table. “You do not like it?”

  “It’s not that,” I stammered. “It’s, well, I’m not really into fish.”

  “But you live on an island,” he pointed out.

  “Yeah, I guess I’m not into the idea of raw fish,” I clarified.

  “Oh, I see.” He smirked.

  That irritated me.

  “I mean, it can’t be natural, can it? What was the point of man inventing fire if it wasn’t to cook fish?” I was being belligerent.

  “Well, man did not invent fire, for starters, and have you even tried raw fish?”

  “Um, no,” I replied, trying to cross my legs. First the car, now this table. I was destined to be crammed into uncomfortable positions tonight.

  “Well, you cannot decide you do not like sushi if you have never had it,” he countered.

  “I’ve had sushi before.”

  “Oh, really?” he said, arching one eyebrow. He lounged comfortably on the other side of the table from me, in complete contrast to my squirming.

  “Yeah, I’ve had, um, one of those California roll things,” I protested.

  “Does not count.”

  “Who died and made you the sushi king?”

  “Just try a piece,” he insisted. “You will not be disappointed.”

  “Fine, but it better be good.” I groaned, feeling slightly squeamish. Could I just swallow it whole?

  Adam looked at all the trays on the table before selecting a piece from a dark green tray on the corner. He picked up the roll effortlessly with his wooden chopsticks and set it down on my plate before proceeding to pour soy sauce into a little dish for me and adding a hint of green paste to the mix.

  “Go easy on the wasabi. It has quite a bite,” he explained.

  I looked down at the seaweed-wrapped rice and wondered what the red stuff was in the middle. Did I really want to know? Probably not.

  I grabbed my chopsticks and positioned them correctly in my right hand. Being a Chinese food lover, I was no novice when it came to chopsticks, and so I stabbed the piece of sushi, dragged it through the soy sauce, and popped it into my mouth in one bite. Adam had been right. The wasabi was potent, and my eyes started to water, while my nose felt like someone had just stuffed a chili pepper up both nostrils. I managed to swallow the sushi just as the coughing fit kicked in.

  Adam handed me a glass of water and I took three or four good swigs before attempting to speak.

  “Why didn’t you warn me?” I wheezed, taking another gulp of water.

  “I did. It is not my fault you did not listen,” he said, a smile playing across his face.

  I took a deep breath and sighed. The burn had subsided.

  “Did you like it?” he asked innocently.

  “If by ‘like,’ you mean was I in pain, then yes.”

  “How about trying a piece without the wasabi this time?” he asked. There was more sushi on my plate.

  Most of the meal consisted of banter just like this. I would be forced into trying some new piece of sushi, and Adam would grill me on my reaction. Toward the end of the meal, a waiter came in to take our plates away, refill our teapot, and leave us a small dish of desserts‌—‌a plateful of pastel-colored gelatinous balls. I didn’t think I could stomach them.

  “So, did you hear about Alberta Johnson?” I asked. He might’ve been new to the island, but he’d have to be almost deaf and blind not to have gotten the news about the murder.

  “Yes, sadly, I did. She will be missed,” he replied, staring into his teacup.

  “Wait, you knew Alberta? How?”

  “Does it matter? The outcome is the same.” He shrugged and took a sip of his tea.

  “I’d like to know. Isn’t that reason enough?”

  He sighed before setting his cup down and running a hand through his hair. “I met Alberta when I first arrived on Tybee, before I came to Paddy’s. She seemed nice, like you‌—‌but troubled. We met and chatted a few times and then went our separate ways.”

  “Do you make it a habit of picking up barmaids, then?” I asked, a cool edge to my voice, “’cause I’d like to know that, too.” Suddenly, it didn’t seem such a good idea to be here with him like this.

  “No. I thought I made that clear yesterday.” He shook his head and grimaced. “Perhaps we should speak of something else. It seems the topic of Alberta upsets you. Tell me what it was like growing up on Tybee.” Adam poured himself another cup of steaming tea before reclining sideways on a bright tangerine cushion.

  Just like that, he had changed topics. Alberta was nothing more than a fleeting thought and that disturbed me, but I answered him anyway.

  “I guess it was like growing up in any small town.”

  “And?” He looked directly at me while absentmindedly tracing the rim of his cup with his finger.

  “Sometimes it’s not easy talking about my childhood.” I struggled to keep my voice neutral as I hugged my knees up to my chest so my chin could rest lightly on my jeans.

  “Why?” He looked perplexed.

  “’Cause it’s bad enough growing up in a small town with one parent, let alone no parents at all. People assume there’s something wrong with you.” Some anger slipped into my tone.

  “I am sorry.”

  “It’s fine.” I sighed. “It’s just the reality of living on a small island. People are super critical if you’re not just like them.” Unfolding my arms, I stretched forward for my cup, wrapping it in my fingers. “Anyhow, you would’ve liked my grandmother. Penny didn’t let anybody talk bad about me or Ellie.”

  “What happened to her?” asked Adam.

  “Cancer took her right after my high school graduation,” I said quietly, a lump in my throat making it hard for me to swallow.

  “You miss her.”

  I nodded, trying to force the feelings down. “She was all I ever had, really, except for Birdie and Haylee. Amanda and I didn’t become close until much later.”

&nbs
p; “Did Penny ever talk about Ellie?” he asked, sitting upright to grab a sweet and plopping it in his mouth. A speck of confectioners’ sugar stuck to his lower lip before he licked it off.

  “Sometimes. Penny said I got my stubbornness and attitude from Ellie.”

  “Did she ever talk to you about the accident?” he asked gently.

  “Somewhat.” I paused. It was hardly an accident. Most people avoided talking about Ellie’s suicide, and they definitely didn’t bring it up in front of me. “Penny was adamant that Ellie didn’t kill herself. I don’t know if Penny was delusional or not. The way she painted it, Ellie was thrilled with my birth even after Joe had run away. Penny swore that there was no way Ellie would’ve left me.”

  “But you are not convinced.” He leaned forward, his elbows on the table.

  “I don’t know,” I replied honestly. “Penny loved Ellie more than anything. She was her only child. It’d be understandable for her to make Ellie out to be something she wasn’t. From all accounts, Ellie was a bit of a hell-raiser.” I forced a small tight smile.

  “Who told you that?” he asked.

  “It’s common knowledge that my mother was rebellious‌—‌that’s how she ended up with Joe. She was doing it just to spite everyone. I guess she wanted something different for her life.” Talking about Ellie was making me uncomfortable.

  “What about you?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?” he replied, leaning back from the table. His voice was guarded.

  “What about your childhood? What was that like?” I was more than a bit curious about Adam’s past. He seemed an enigma. No one seemed to know anything about him.

  “There is not a lot to tell.” He poured more tea into his cup before taking a sip.

  I waited patiently for him to continue. When he didn’t, I decided I’d take a different approach. “You’re obviously not American. What part of England are you from?”

  “I am not English,” he responded, “although I do have a fondness for that country which I cannot deny.”

  “But you have an English accent,” I countered.

  “Yes, quite. It was rather unavoidable, given how much time I spent there.”

  “Look.” My impatience was brewing right beneath the surface. “If you want this to work, you’ve got to put forth some effort here.”

  “I know. That is why I asked you to dinner,” he replied.

  “That’s not the type of effort I’m talking about. I want to know more about you‌—‌what you like, what you do when you’re not fixing up your house. You know, normal stuff.”

  “I have never been good with small talk,” he admitted.

  “Well, that’s okay, then, because this isn’t small talk.” I reached for the teapot to fill my own cup. “Let’s try again. What were your parents like?”

  “I do not remember a lot about my parents,” he said finally. “I was raised primarily by a man who was more like an uncle.”

  “Did your parents die?”

  “No, not exactly. My parents were not in a position to raise me, so a friend of the family had to step in and take charge of my care. It was okay.” He shrugged.

  I felt sorry for him, but understood his situation. At least my maternal grandmother had been willing to look after me. I don’t know what would’ve happened if Penny hadn’t kept me. I probably would’ve ended up in foster care.

  “Brothers? Sisters?”

  “I have one sister who is much older than me‌—‌Gabby‌—‌but I never see her. She was pretty busy with her career when I was young and so she did not have the time to bring up a child.” His tone lacked any warmth. He sounded as if he were reading a newspaper article.

  “That’s horrible.”

  “It was fine, really. My uncle had several children, and I was not the only stray he took in. Jeremiah was like me‌…‌his parents were not in a position to raise him, either, so he ended up with me. He is more like a sibling than Gabby is.”

  “So you weren’t raised in England, then?”

  “I was actually raised in a climate more like Italy’s‌—‌warm, sunny, mostly dry. My uncle lived in a remote village renowned for its olives and figs. I grew up there with Jeremiah and my uncle’s son‌…‌Lucien.” He added the name reluctantly.

  “You didn’t like him,” I guessed. He shook his head.

  “Rather, he was not fond of me,” he replied, staring down at his cup.

  “Why?” I asked, intrigued.

  “Because my uncle adored me. Because I was the chosen child, and yet I did nothing to make it so.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Imagine being the only son of an influential man, a great man. Imagine how you would feel if everything you did was not good enough. If every achievement, every action, every deed on your part was insignificant, like a fly compared to a soaring phoenix. That was what it was like for Lucien, only worse.” He grimaced. “It was worse because what he lacked, I had. I could do no wrong. I was the prodigal son, yet I was not a son at all. I was not even related, and so he grew angry sitting in my shadow.”

  “But that wasn’t your fault, was it?” I asked.

  “Yet I did not do anything to stop it. With no parents of my own, I basked in the affection and privileges bestowed upon me by my uncle. I wanted to be first, and so I was.”

  “What happened?”

  “We both grew up to be men of substance. And yet…” His voice trailed off.

  “What?”

  “There is something dark at Lucien’s core. He appears one way to the world, yet I know that something sinister must lie beneath. Smiles and gestures do not hide the truth from those who seek it,” he said enigmatically.

  I shivered. “You tell it as if it’s a ghost story,” I said.

  “Perhaps it is,” he said, almost to himself. “They are all ghosts now. I have not seen or talked to them in more years than I can count.”

  “Wait! So how old are you?” I asked, leaning forward, eager to finally find out.

  “Old enough to know it is not polite to ask,” he replied, sidestepping my question.

  “That’s not fair!” I objected, throwing a hand-sized cushion at his head. I was a poor shot, and the pillow bounced off his shoulder. He stood suddenly, holding out his hand toward me.

  “It is time to go.”

  “Fine.” I huffed, placing my hand in his as I struggled to stand on my feet, which had fallen asleep. Pins and needles shot up my legs while electric tingles ran down my arms. I sighed, and he gave my hand a little squeeze. The same hostess with the sour attitude appeared with our shoes and led us out to the dark sidewalk before giving Adam a final bow.

  As he opened the door for me, I wondered if he was too good to be true. Was he real? Could it really be this easy? I felt a chill creep up my spine but shook it off as I slid into the car. There was no point in jinxing myself, I thought, as the car roared to life and we headed back toward Tybee.

  I was the one to suggest the walk on the beach. I couldn’t deny that part of it was a physical need to be near him. After all, it had been well over a year since I’d had any sort of intimate relationship with a man. Yet it was also more than that. I wanted Adam to not just want me, but to understand me. The few guys I’d dated had been kept at arm’s length; however, I’d opened up to this man willingly at our very first encounter. There was something about him that made it easy, and while it was somewhat disconcerting, it was also a relief to share myself with someone other than my friends.

  As I got out of the car, he reached out for my hand. The tingling was back in full force, a pleasant reminder of our connection. It made me smile.

  “What?” Adam asked.

  “Don’t you feel it?”

  “Feel what?” he asked, a perplexed look crossing his face.

  “The tingling, the buzzing‌—‌whatever you want to call it.” I said it before I could chicken out.

  “I have
no idea what you are talking about,” he said matter-of-factly.

  I turned to look at him, wondering if he was telling the truth or not. Surely it couldn’t just be me? Was I imagining things? He stared back at me, his face blank.

  “It’s not important.” I turned away from him.

  “Wait.” Adam grabbed my arm and twisted me back to face him.

  “There’s no point. I must be crazy.”

  “You are not crazy. Tell me,” he replied, staring straight at me.

  I wasn’t convinced.

  “Poesy, please.”

  “Okay, well, I did warn you.” I resisted the urge to shake my head as I sank down onto the beach, not caring about getting sand in my boots. “Ever since our first meeting, I’ve gotten this strange sensation whenever you touch me.” I searched for the right words. “When we have contact, I get this low-level tingling. It’s like when you touch your tongue to top of a nine-volt battery. A strange though not unpleasant buzzing.” I shook my head this time, frustrated with my inability to describe it. “But it’s more than that‌—‌it’s like this heat travels through my body, this incredible electric energy. It’s hard for me to concentrate when you’re around.”

  “It sounds like attraction to me.” He chuckled lightheartedly as he sat down beside me in the sand, cross-legged. He didn’t touch me.

  “Don’t make fun of me. I’m serious.”

  The air was silent except for the crashing of the waves on the beach.

  “I am sorry.” His voice permeated through the night.

  “What for?” I asked.

  “For not being able to feel this feeling you describe. I would feel it for you if I could,” he replied. His answer made my chest hurt. I broke out in a light sweat even in the chilly November night. I was elated yet anxious at the same time. Was I was falling for this man?

  “I am not very good with feelings,” he continued, as if to himself. “I envy you.”

  “That can’t be true.”

  “I am afraid it is. I have never had to care about anyone else before except for myself and my brothers, yet this is different. I cannot really explain it. I just know this is not the same. I am drawn in and‌…‌I do not know why.” He turned his head in the moonlight and for once, I was glad I couldn’t look into his eyes. “Fate has placed you in my way, and now I do not know what I am supposed to do. For most of my life, I have known what my purpose is, what my role in this place is. I did not question it. I just lived it. I was happy to be insignificant, like a single grain of sand against the vast ocean. I did not fight it.” He went quiet.