Bound

by Kirsten Weiss

  I crept closer and gasped, drawing away.

  The statue’s eyes had been gouged out. The tears dripped blood.

  Steel wrappings bound me, wrenched me upwards. I choked, struggling to breathe. Cold agony wracked my limbs. I was dying. No air. A fish gasping helpless in a net.

  “Karin!”

  I struggled, fighting for oxygen.

  “Karin! You’re all right.”

  The steel binds loosened, and I pushed free, sputtering, in the spring. Magic. I couldn’t speak, coughing. The air thickened, congealed, clogging my throat. A tendril of green brushed my face, and I jerked away. The glade darkened, the sun passing behind a cloud. Panic hardened my limbs, tumbled my brain. We had to get out of the spring.

  Nick treaded water, his dark hair plastered to his skull. His eyes snapped with fury. “What the hell were you doing? I thought you were drowning.” He scowled. “Let’s get you out—” He jerked, vanishing beneath the surface.

  “Nick?” His figure rippled below me, his head bowed, his arms reaching limply toward the surface. “Nick!”

  I dove, kicking, and grasped his arm, tugged.

  He didn’t budge.

  I pulled at him again, only succeeding at dragging myself deeper into the pool. The icy water was knives slicing my flesh.

  Fear clenched my stomach. I’d been arrogant. Sure, I could handle this new magic in the woods. Get lost again? No problem! And now I would have drowned it if hadn’t been for Nick, and Nick… My hands cramped from the cold, slipping on his bare skin. I flailed, kicking him.

  He sagged sideways at the blow.

  Let him be caught on something. Something that wasn’t magic. I dove deeper, using his body as a ladder to pull myself toward the bottom. His bare feet floated inches above the smooth, mossy stones.

  I looked around, frantic, stupid. I had to focus. So he wasn’t caught. This was a magical attack. I’d known this, and I could deal with magic. It was all energy, and energy could be moved, disrupted.

  I visualized roots growing from my feet, sinking into the earth, drawing its power. I imagined leaves and branches growing from the crown of my head, pulling the energy from the sky. My skin tingled, and I forced the power down my arm. Lungs bursting, I swept my hand, bladelike, beneath his toes.

  A surge of energy jolted me, and Nick floated upward. I swam past him, grabbing his shirt collar.

  We burst to the surface.

  Nick sputtered. Wordless, he swam to the edge of the spring and pulled himself out in one swift motion.

  “Take my hand,” he croaked.

  I grasped his, and he hauled me out of the spring. We tumbled to the soft grass and lay, side by side, panting. A chipmunk scampered across a low branch and chittered. Sun filtered through the trees, warming.

  “What just happened?” He coughed.

  I lay, dazed. Attacked, I’d been attacked, a real attack. Not a twisting path in the woods. Not an unconscious curse cast by an angry driver. There’d been intent behind what had happened. It was gone now, the forest restored, but I hadn’t imagined that malice. No one had ever directed such violence at me before, and I trembled, wanting comfort I couldn’t have. I’d have to lie again. And I hated it. “You tell me.”

  He rolled to his side, grasped my head. His mouth covered mine, hungry.

  Startled, I froze. And then my reservations melted, and everything fell away but Nick. His hands on me. His chest pressed against mine. I returned the kiss, wanton, reckless. Even clammy and covered in ice water I wanted him, his cheek rough against mine, his body hard and…

  We broke apart, breathing hard, and collapsed onto our backs, our arms tangled together. The branches shifted above us in the breeze. We lay there a long time, not speaking.

  I didn’t need to talk, didn’t want to break his spell. Maybe he’d kissed me because he’d had a near-death experience, maybe it had been blind impulse. Lips burning, I didn’t care. If this was the only time he kissed me, it would be enough. But I hoped it wouldn’t be the last.

  “Sorry,” Nick said. “I needed to re-exert my masculinity after you saved my life.”

  “You saved my life too,” I said, indignant. Of all the stupid excuses to kiss me…

  He sighed. “It doesn’t count when you save it back.”

  “That’s… Seriously?”

  “It’s a rule.”

  “Okay, next time you save my life, if you get yourself in a pickle, I’ll let you—”

  “Marinate?”

  “I was going for stew, but marinate does work better with the pickle theme.” What did pickles do? “Brine?” I mused.

  “I don’t think you can tell someone to get brined.”

  I laughed. “No, but now I totally want to.” It was my first real laugh in weeks. And then I remembered Ellen and Jayce, the two reasons why I couldn’t and shouldn’t laugh, and I quieted.

  I shivered, and Nick sat up. “I’ve got a dry jacket in my pack. Hold on a minute.” He rose to his feet in a fluid motion. Finding the pack beneath a fern, he unzipped it, the sound loud in the shady forest.

  Staggering to my feet, I brushed at the leaves and grass sticking to my clothes. I took his jacket and shrugged it on. It was too big, falling nearly to my knees, but it was warm. “Thanks,” I said, suddenly self-conscious. I stared hard at the spring, concentrating, trying to see the way my aunt did. But all I saw was clear water and greenery.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Do you see something?”

  Not a damn thing. “No. Nothing. Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “I’m not sure.” He stared at me, frowning, and I shivered again but not from the cold. “We should go,” he said. “You’re freezing, and we’re both soaked.” He strode past me, up the rough-cut steps in the hillside, and I followed.

  My clothes clung tight to my waist and limbs, and suddenly I was struggling to draw breath. I wanted to tear off my sodden clothes and run, reckless like Jayce. But I wasn’t Jayce, and so I slogged up the earthen stairs.

  At the top, he stopped, turned, held out his hand.

  Hesitant, I took it, and he helped me up the final steps.

  “Karin, at the spring, what did you do?”

  “I didn’t… You went under, and I grabbed you, and then you suddenly came free.”

  His brow furrowed. “But why did you dive into the water in the first place?”

  “Dive? I dove? One minute I was on the bank, and the next we were in the spring.”

  He looked at me, his gaze penetrating.

  “What?” I crossed my arms.

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “What makes you think—”

  He growled. “Karin.”

  How could I tell him? Sure, this was California, and people are more open to magic and mysticism. But he’d never believe me. And I really wanted him to.

  Cautiously, I said, “I thought I heard someone speaking in… near the water. And then I thought I saw something moving beneath the water. And then… it’s all confused.” Studying him, I leaned against a redwood, water droplets plopping from my soaking clothes.

  He frowned — not skeptical. Thoughtful. “I saw you kneeling on the bank. I called to you, but you didn’t respond, as if you were in some sort of trance. And then you fell head-first into the water.”

  “And that’s when you jumped in? Okay, you heard my story. What happened to you?”

  “After I hauled you up? Something grabbed my ankle. I don’t remember anything after that. Not until you pulled me to the surface.”

  A breeze shivered the tops of the trees, and I zipped the jacket he’d lent. “You never really answered my first question. Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked sharply.

  Uneasy, I licked my lips. “You said you wanted to search the spring for signs of that man we spotted outside Ground. Did you find any?”

  “No. Let’s get out of here.” He strode down the hillside.


  I hurried to keep pace.

  “What do you know about this spring?” he asked.

  “Um…” Only that my long ago ancestress may have seduced someone here and cast a really nasty curse. That story would go over like a Halloween treat. “It’s popular.”

  “No kidding. It’s in all the guide books and trail guides. Have there been any drownings there?”

  “Not that I’ve heard of. Why?”

  “Nothing. It wouldn’t… Never mind.”

  The uncertainty didn’t fit him. He was hiding something, but whatever he was hiding, it didn’t feel as if it had to do with Jayce’s case. And when did I start relying on feelings? I wasn’t Jayce. “No drownings,” I said, hoping to draw him out. “We do lose hikers in the woods every now and then. I’m not sure how it happens. The trails are well marked, and we’re not far from civilization.”

  “Every seven years.” He stopped and turned to me, his expression intent.

  “What?” I trotted to catch up with him, and my breath came more quickly.

  “Not every now and then. A hiker disappears in these woods every seven years. Vanishes without a trace.”

  I stared. If that was true, it was the first I’d heard it. How did an outsider known this pattern when I hadn’t? “What does that have to do with Jayce’s case? Do you believe whoever killed Alicia is responsible?”

  “No,” he said. “But I believe someone is.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I hurried down Main Street. Its brick buildings radiated warmth from the summer day. The afternoon heat felt charged, electric on my bare arms and legs. After my dunking in the spring, I’d showered and changed into a short-sleeved, blue and white dress. And okay, maybe I was trying to redeem myself from the drowned-rat-in-a-Blood-Drive-t-shirt look.

  Then I thought of Ellen, and was flooded with shame. I’d no business primping and posing when my aunt was dying, and especially not for Jayce’s lawyer. Besides, I wasn’t going to see him again anytime soon.

  Strains of Beethoven flowed from second-floor windows in the dance studio across the street. The voice of a teacher kept time, one-and-two-and one-and-two-and... Girlish arms reached up, twirling, and I imagined pink tutus and ribboned hair. I’d never taken ballet, or any group classes as a kid. I knit my lip. None of us had, our aunt cloistering us and our magic from the town.

  My phone rang. I rummaged in my over-sized bag, pulled out the phone.

  Jayce.

  “Hey, Karin. Are you in town?”

  “On Main Street.”

  “Could you do me a favor? Ellen wants lemon bars. Well, she did. She’s asleep again, so I guess there’s no hurry. But could you pick some up?”

  “Sure.” Hope surged, fell. My aunt probably wouldn’t eat the dessert. The cancer had killed her appetite. But it was worth a try.

  Across the street, Steve Woodley emerged from the barber shop He paused by the spiral pole to take a call on his cell phone.

  I smiled, wondering what the bald man had to trim. Had he hired a professional to groom his silver mustache and goatee? He motioned with his free hand, the movement straining the suit fabric across his muscular shoulders.

  “I’ve got to go, Jayce. I’ll get the lemon bars. Bye.” I hung up and darted across the road. Woodley was on the town council, and he’d been outside Ground after the body had been discovered. The opportunity was too good to miss. And after all, I was a constituent.

  He slipped his phone into the pocket of his navy suit jacket.

  “Mr. Woodley!” I trotted up to him.

  He beamed, his blue eyes twinkling. “Miss Bonheim! Just the person I wanted to see.” His striped shirt lay open at the collar.

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve got an elderly aunt who wants to rewrite her will. I’d like to recommend her to you, but she may be a bit of a handful.” He leaned closer and said in a low voice, “She likes to change her mind. A lot. Expect to see me disinherited on a regular basis.”

  “I’d be happy to help.” I planned to be a handful myself when I got old (assuming the curse was bogus). Councilman Woodley was in his seventies. His aunt must be pushing a hundred. “Thanks for the referral.”

  “Of course. We need to support Doyle business! I don’t believe you’re in the business association, are you?”

  “No. Terrible about Alicia Duarte,” I said, unable to think of a better lead in.

  His silver eyebrows squished together. “Yes, awful. Er, how is your sister doing?”

  “Jayce? Okay, I guess. Finding Alicia was a shock for us both, especially since I’d spoken with her the day before she died,” I fibbed.

  “Really?”

  “She told me she was working on an article connected to the town council. Did she interview you?”

  “Me? No.” He shifted his weight. “Did she mention what the article was about?”

  “She said it was big news, but that was all. There are five council members, aren’t there? Maybe she interviewed someone else.” How do you investigate vote buying?

  “Since Ms. Duarte is dead, this sounds like a police matter. Have you spoken with them about what she told you?”

  “No, not yet. Maybe it’s nothing.” Nothing. Which was exactly what I was getting from this so-called interrogation.

  “Well,” he said, “give my best to your family.” He strode off.

  I blew out my breath. Waste. Of. Time.

  Crossing the street, I walked into the bakery. With its checkerboard floors and dark-wood beams, it looked like something out of a Bavarian forest. Pyramids of cellophane-wrapped pink boxes sat stacked on round tables. I scanned the sparkling, glassed-in shelves. Cupcakes, eclairs, tarts…

  “…should have heard him going on about UFOs again,” a young woman wearing a brown ponytail giggled behind the counter.

  Her crisp-aproned colleague, broad shouldered, young and handsome, grinned. “The characters are the best part of that bar.”

  “I saw you leave with Doctor Toeller,” the woman said, sly.

  He colored. “I had a medical question.”

  “Right.”

  “I’m serious. And Toeller’s a classy lady.”

  I cleared my throat. “Do you have any lemon bars?”

  “Sorry,” the female clerk said. “We’re out. We’ve got a lemon tart though. Can I get you one?”

  Heat washed from my chest to my scalp. I didn’t need a lemon tart. I’d asked for lemon bars, and if they didn’t have them the one time I needed them, then they shouldn’t try to pawn off their stupid tart. Tears pricked my eyes. A tiny voice in my brain shrieked. Irrational! Unreasonable! And I forced away my anger, smiled. “No, but thanks.”

  Hurriedly, I left, embarrassed by my rage even if I’d kept it bottled. I visited two more shops and finally found a box mix for lemon bars in a family grocery store. It wouldn’t be as good, but baking would keep me busy while Ellen slept.

  A tourist couple walked arm-in-arm down the shaded sidewalk. A leash stretched from the woman’s wrist to a sheepdog puppy. The dog paused at a watering bowl set outside a store and lapped up the liquid. The woman turned to her boyfriend, and they kissed.

  I touched my lips. Nick had known what he was doing with that kiss. It had been a long time since I’d been kissed that way. Had I ever?

  I kept walking. I had to forget about Nick. He was a diversion, nothing more. And he might be a great kisser, but I suspected he had a hidden agenda.

  Could he be right about a hiker disappearing every seven years? It seemed extraordinary that no one else had made the connection. And what had he really been searching for at the spring? Did he believe the homeless man was responsible for the disappearing hikers?

  I paused at Ground’s front door, braced open by a chalkboard sign. The scent of brewing coffee twined around me, and my lips parted. The café was open? Jayce hadn’t mentioned that bit of good news.

  I strode inside. A half-dozen customers sat at wooden tables, tapping on their laptops.

&nb
sp; Jayce’s assistant manager, Darla, stood behind the dark wooden counter. Metal tins of coffee lined the shelves beside her. Beside them stood jars of coconut-coffee hand scrub. The scrub sold like Black Friday doorbusters, even though it was only coconut oil and used coffee grounds and Jayce’s secret ingredient — magic.

  Darla looked up, wary, at one of the hanging ferns. It swayed as if someone had struck it.

  I walked to the counter. “Hi, Darla. How’s it going?”

  “Good.” She tugged her blond ponytail tighter. “Jayce’s not here.”

  “I know. She called me.” I raised the grocery bag. “She’s got me running errands. It’s great to see Ground open again. When did that happen?”

  “This morning.”

  “You must be relieved.”

  “I should be.” She touched the hanging fern, steadying it. “But I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

  I smothered a sigh of exasperation and set the bag on the counter. That was Darla’s problem — she was always waiting for something bad to happen. And when something invariably did, she was convinced she’d seen the bad luck coming. But bad things happened to everyone. Life was a series of ups and downs, and the universe hadn’t singled her out. It was only her attitude that made it seem that way. “Let’s hope there are no other shoes. Or boots or sandals. Everything will work out.”

  “Tell that to Alicia Duarte.”

  “That was Alicia’s bad luck, not yours.” But Darla did seem to come in for more than her fair share of bad news, I thought, and I slipped my hands into my pockets.

  “I have a key to Ground. The cops think I might be at fault.”

  A selfish part of me wished that was true. That would get Jayce off the hook. “You didn’t let Alicia in, did you?”

  “No!”

  “And you’ve got no reason to harm her.”

  Darla pursed her mouth. “No.” Turning to the shelf behind her, she straightened a row of brushed-nickel tins.

  “But you didn’t like her,” I guessed.

  There was a snap. The hanging fern plummeted downward. It hit the counter like a bomb, ejecting dirt and ceramic shards.