a Touch of Intrigue

by L. j. Charles

  TWENTY-FOUR

  MY STOMACH DID A PITCH and roll. Fred strolling out of Millie and Harlan’s cottage like he belonged was expected. That he was here now was not.

  Tension radiated from Ghost Guy, and the smell of sickness gagged me. But he’d moved closer, almost within kicking distance. If Fred held his attention, kept his focus away from me, I could…

  “Hello, Martin.” Fred sounded cheerful.

  “What is this? Old home week?” Anger seeped into my words.

  Fred was truly a bastard, everyone agreed on that, but there was no chance he’d let Ghost Guy Martin shoot me. Not before he had the poison safely in his hands.

  “You could say that, Ms. Gray. You have everything she needs to make the stuff, Martin?”

  I was so fricking screwed.

  Martin stepped closer, lowered the backpack to the ground. “Ya.”

  “Well, bring it on in so she can get started.” Fred held the door open.

  Good, that kept his hands busy.

  I inched back a half step.

  The rope went slack.

  I spun, caught Martin’s chin with a solid kick, and we both went down.

  A second later my topknot came loose, and my hair slipped down in a mass of unruly curls. Irritating. Before I could blow it out of my eyes, Fred had the Benelli aimed at Martin.

  “Been waiting a lot of years for this day, Martin. Let go of the rope.”

  He jerked it tight. “You can have the toxin, mon ami. I only want the other, the healing elixir.” He stood, pushed the gun aside. “I’m dying. Brain cancer is an ugly way to go.”

  Fred nodded. And was that sympathy softening his cold, brown eyes? “Thought you looked sick when you were following me around.”

  How the hell he’d managed to keep that rope in a viselike grip was beyond me? I rolled to my side, got to my knees, finally managed to get my feet under me. “Rope. Off.” There was no mistaking the threat in my words.

  Martin dropped it, and I worked my way free of the Lasso. “You.” I poked my finger in Fred’s chest. “Allowed him.” I jabbed my finger at Ghost Guy. “To have free access to my property? What in the fricking hell were you thinking?”

  “That you make beautiful bait, Ms. Gray.” His smile was full, straightening the skewed cleft in his chin.

  “What?” I laced the single word with enough ice to withstand a Hawaiian heat wave, and then grabbed the Benelli out of his hand, and emptied the magazine.

  “Martin here was the last loose end from Xola’s mission. Needed to be cleaned up before I retire, and you provided the perfect insurance that he’d show up right where I wanted him.”

  Fred was old. Martin was dying. And Whitney had seen to it that my right hook packed a bit of power. There was no question I could take both of them, but before I landed the first punch, Pierce hauled up behind me and grabbed my arm.

  “Let me, Belisama.” His fist connected with Fred’s jaw.

  He stumbled back, clutching his jaw. Stumbled. Not knocked out cold. Pierce had totally pulled that punch.

  “Goddammit, Tap. That hurt like a bitch.”

  I grinned at Pierce. “Thanks, Love. You’re the best. Can you get these two locked up someplace so Siofra, Millie, and I can work on Mom’s project?”

  Fred bristled. “Don’t even think about it, Tap. I need to pass Martin through proper channels. Chopper’s been here waiting most of the night.”

  I craned my neck, looking up. It stood out, black and sinister, against the soft glow of the afternoon sky, then I turned back to Pierce. “Tell me again, why did you send me to Fred for training?”

  Pierce tugged on one of my loose curls. “For us, Everly.”

  Right. “Then let’s get a move on. I’m ready for the fun part of us.”

  The sound of running feet had all four of us swiveling our heads toward the side of the cottage. Lorcán stormed into the yard, his face a thundercloud of unhappy. “Could.” Gasp. “Have.” Gasp. “Warned me.” Gasp. “About ’hundred yard dash.”

  Pierce tipped his head toward Fred and Martin. “Had to defuse them.”

  And he had. The two old men stood there, complacent, shoulders sagging, weary written on their faces. I wanted to drop-kick both of them into the stratosphere, but instead I was going to do my best to come up with a healing formula to test on Ghost Guy Martin. Seemed the least he could do for mankind, considering. I nudged Pierce. “How about you lock them up somewhere so I can get to work? What’s the SITREP from home?”

  “Harlan’s escorting Aukele here. Mo mháthair and Millie are cooking. We’re here.”

  Fred shuffled his feet. “Gotta get going.”

  I glared at him. “Do not mess with me. You will be contained in one of our storage areas, and Lorcán will keep watch.” I shook my finger at them. “I expect you to be on your best behavior or I won’t share tiddlywinks with you, much less the formula.” There was something comforting about having a bit of power, even if it was only over two old guys who’d served their countries the best way they knew how. Damn, but I was getting soft. Not good. I straightened my spine, and sucked in a breath.

  Pierce and Lorcán nodded agreement.

  “After you get these two settled, Tynan, please send Millie and Siofra back here. I want to get this finished. Done and over.”

  Pierce caught my hand. “Might want to have one of them bandage your arm.”

  I snagged my backpack and scrunchie from the ground, and headed toward the cottage. “Yeah. I don’t want to chance that any of the mixture we’re be brewing will touch it. Good grief, I sound like a witch.”

  “Go brew. I’ll clean this up.” He winked.

  I wanted to kiss him senseless, but instead followed the scent of burning coffee that was drifting from the cottage. Millie would be hot if Fred scorched her best percolator, especially since she didn’t own an automatic coffee maker, or even a French press. Millie wanted her fresh-ground beans to perk. Could be why her coffee always tasted so special. I dropped my backpack on the kitchen table, made use of the bathroom facilities, washed the sweat off my face, and poured some peroxide on my rope burn. Ready. Set. Time to channel Mom.

  I spread the four bundles of leaves on the kitchen counter in order of the code numbers: 9—21—32—18.

  Now I needed a recipe. And I wouldn’t turn down any goddess-guidance that came my way.

  Between my formula-enhanced DNA, ESP fingers, Pierce-vision, and Siofra-taught hearing, I should be able to whip up a batch of Mom’s toxin—no sweat. Millie’s kitchen had been her workroom, and that meant her energy was still here, albeit buried under years of stuff.

  I sat on the floor, wrapped my legs into a half-lotus, and closed my eyes. Somewhere in this room, there was a recipe. If I had been the keeper of a potentially world destroying formula, where would I hide it? There was no point in searching with my normal human senses, and my fingers weren’t tingling, so I tabled that approach.

  Pierce-vision had almost become second nature, so I tried that first, scanning the cupboard doors for any sign of unusual DNA, whatever that might look like. Nothing popped, but my line of vision drifted toward an under-the-counter cupboard next to the refrigerator. I made a mental note of it, then moved on.

  What did the kitchen have to tell me? Listening was more difficult, maybe because it was learned skill, whereas the gift of enhanced sight had been “inherited” through my blood bond with Pierce. I listened to my breath flowing in and out of my lungs, then expanded my awareness to include table and chairs. I sensed a low, slow vibration, but nothing I could truly hear. Frustrated, I traced a pattern on one of my sea glass bracelets.

  It sang beautifully, but I was trying to hear the table. Maybe if I held the glass and touched the wood at the same time. I had been holding the plants when they spoke to me, so it made sense that touching was involved, especially considering my ESP fingers. Maybe there was a link between them.

  I stood, scraped a chair back, and sat. Resting my forearms on the ta
ble, I rubbed the sea glass with my fingertips. The sound started as a reluctant rumble, like it was an effort for the wood to speak. The longer I listened, the clearer it became, until it developed a distinct voice of it’s own.

  Not wanting to waste another second, I crossed the kitchen to the cupboard that had caught my attention earlier. I took off my bracelet with the largest piece of sea glass and held it between my thumb and index finger, and then rested my other hand on the cupboard door. And waited.

  Not so much as a whisper touched my ears. I moved to the overhead cupboard, and immediately heard a scritchity-scritch sound that made me laugh. This was a happy, busy piece of wood that carried the essence of frequent contact with Millie. I tried another cupboard. A different voice, but it held a definite cadence that belonged to that piece of wood alone. So why was the first cupboard silent?

  I dropped to my knees in front of it, smashed my left palm against the wood, and caressed the sea glass with my finger. Stone cold silence. It was unnerving after hearing the other wood speak so clearly. I opened the door, peered inside. Empty. That could explain it. Millie didn’t use this cupboard so maybe it was…hibernating. Or hiding something.

  I stuck my head in, closed my eyes, and looked around. The back panel was slightly off kilter, the angle only visible through my Pierce-vision. I backed out of the cupboard and headed for the laundry room—the most likely place Millie would store a toolbox. That rear panel was coming out one way or another. I found a screwdriver with some heft, and made my way back to the kitchen. The contortions I had to go through to reach that back panel were video-worthy, and I was grateful no one had their phone at the ready to immortalize the scene, and post it on the Internet. I acquired a few interesting bruises, scraped knuckles, and some X-rated words had colored Millie’s kitchen before I found enough leverage to pry the panel loose.

  It unexpectedly sprang free, and I jammed the sharp end of the screwdriver into the bottom of the cabinet. I couldn’t work it free with the panel halfway out, so I had to manipulate that back panel around the screwdriver. Frustrating beyond all reason, especially when I discovered nothing but bare wallboard behind it.

  My spirits sagged. Too many dead ends, and I didn’t have any clues to follow. Other than the undiscovered file Millie and Makani hid in the ceiling of my house. But my spidey sense knew those papers didn’t have anything to do with the formula. There had to be something else. No immediate ideas came to mind, so I twisted, turned, and finally worked the screwdriver free from the bottom of the cupboard.

  And out came the entire bottom shelf. Looked like I’d have to replace a cupboard for Millie and…

  There was a book. Dark cover. Hard to see in the shadows because it had been nestled into a depression under the bottom of the cupboard.

  My heart pounded so hard, I saw stars. It had to be my mother’s notes.

  I reached for it, jerked my hand back. No telling what images were attached to it, so I stood and paced around the kitchen until my insides calmed. Then I grounded myself with deep breathing, and finally touched the notebook. Images passed over my internal screen, some fast, some slow, all of them showed the various steps needed to create the formula. They were in my head now, had become my property that no one could take away—short of a lobotomy. But no one ever needed to know I’d stored the images.

  I huffed out a sigh. It was a hell of a weight to carry. And then I lifted the book from its hiding place, and hugged it tightly to my chest. Screwy as it was, this belonged to me. It was in my blood. And Tynan’s. And Cait’s.

  I opened the heavy, black tag board cover, and ran my fingers over the pages. Some were worn and stained with a wild arrangement of spots and splotches. Some were so pristine they sparkled in the afternoon sunlight. Whatever. They belonged to me now, were my responsibility.

  Familiar voices seeped into my awareness. Siofra and Millie. They came in the front door, chattering like old friends do, not noticing me until they’d strapped on aprons and washed their hands. Women on a mission. When they finally turned around and spotted me sitting on the floor, their attention immediately riveted on the book in my hands. And then they flanked me, Siofra on my right, and Millie on my left.

  “It’s her work bible.” I nodded toward the cupboard. “Buried under the cabinet.” My words sounded strange to me. Scared. Awed. Strained.

  I skimmed the pages, two sets of eyes reading over my shoulders. When I came to a drawing of the first plant, I stopped, brushed my fingers over the page. “I didn’t know she was an artist. The leaves almost come alive on the page.

  Millie patted my arm. “She doodled, sketched, and painted all the time when she was a child, but stopped after the…Amazon.”

  “It’s okay. I know about what happened, About Eamon Grady abusing her.”

  Millie’s rosy cheeks drained white. “Oh, my. She turned a chair away from the table and sat down. “But there are things you don’t know.”

  “Do I need to grab a chair?”

  “Yes, Child, I believe you do.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  THE COTTAGE KITCHEN CLOSED IN around me while I waited for Millie to start talking. I fought for a full breath. How was it possible my family had buried so damn many secrets?

  Millie shifted in her chair. “You know your mother was pregnant when she left the Amazon, probably only a few days, but definitely pregnant. She lost that child in a miscarriage a few weeks later. We never did tell anyone. For the first few months, we pretended she was just gaining weight more slowly than normal, and then she went into seclusion.

  “Who was she hiding from?”

  “Fred. Anyone associated with the government. Makani had seen that there would another pregnancy within a few months, so we knew it was safe to pretend. The child your mother lost would have been born at the end of August, so we always celebrated your birthday on the twenty-first. It was one of the many ways Loyria and James set up to protect you. There are papers—and an entire new identity should you ever need it—prepared with your real birthdate. They’re among the things Aukele hid in your house. Aside from this information about the toxin, those papers are probably the most important tangible thing Loyria and James cached for you to find.”

  I went stupid numb, my brain too stunned to function. I must have looked shell-shocked, because next thing I knew, Siofra had wrapped her arms around me in a gentle hug. “Breathe, mo iníon. The news will settle into you bones over time.”

  Millie nodded. “You were born the following November, the twenty-third.”

  Siofra gave me a quick squeeze, then stood, all business. “Well, then, and doesn’t that make a bit more sense.”

  I stared at her, mouth hanging open. Millie shot her a completely befuddled look.

  Siofra tossed her hands up. “Our girl is a Sagittarius, a fire sign. She’s a wanderer, an explorer, and a truth seeker with a generous amount of independence. She makes the world a better place.”

  What the heck? I didn’t know shit about astrology. “I do?”

  “Yes, you do,” Millie said. She stood, and then with surprising strength, pulled me up. “I believe we have some chemistry to attend to.”

  Siofra smiled, enigmatic. “And a hand-fasting to plan.”

  My head hadn’t caught up to chemistry experiments, much less a hand-fasting. My mind couldn’t get past the double birthday issue. “So, if I’ve been living under a pseudo-false identity for my entire life, does that mean I’m protected from Tynan’s enemies?”

  Siofra sorted through the plants, her lips pursed. “If you use your real birthdate, and new social security number, probably. But I think you’d have to bury Everly, and rebirth yourself with your new name. Do you know what Everly’s other name is, Millie?”

  “Oh, no. Only Loyria and James ever knew the details.”

  It was enough for me. I’d run it by Pierce, see if having a new identity at the ready eased some of his worries. “All right, ladies. Let’s make a toxic formula so I can figure out how to kill i
t.”

  THREE HOURS LATER MILLIE’S KITCHEN was a mess, dirty pots piled in the sink, green goo splashed on the counters, and the entire cottage wreaked of pungent plants. The pots could be washed, and used again, but there was one sterilized glass container that would have to be detoxified—as soon as I figured out how to do that. We were very careful to only combine the plants in that one container, and before they’d been mixed, we’d all donned gloves and treated the jar like it was filled with TNT. Not that any of us were going to swallow it, but it seemed safer to take precautions.

  Swallowing the knot of fear that had lodged in my throat, I picked up the jar. “I’ll carry it. Both of you stay away in case I trip.”

  They stripped off their gloves, dropped them in a plastic bag we’d set aside for contaminated material, and we made our way to the garden, cautiously, slowly. “Are you sure this is the right thing to do, Siofra?”

  “Positive.” There was no doubt in her voice. “The process was clearly defined in Loyria’s notes, and I quote: ‘All testing must be done in the garden. The four living specimens that make up the formula are planted there. All four must be present and healthy to sustain the power that will control the spread of the poison. If the formula has been correctly prepared, and is lethal, the plant you feed will die immediately.’ I trust your mother, Everly, don’t you?”

  “Yes. No. I’m honestly not sure. This is a big responsibility, and she’s not here to fix it if something goes wrong.

  Millie had been mumbling since we left the cottage, and it was beginning to annoy me. “What is it you’re muttering?”

  “Prayers. We can use some outside assistance with this.”

  She had that right. “Yep. I’m on board with that, just please pray silently.”

  She frowned. “Okay. But, Siofra, I want to know how you could quote Loyria’s notes so precisely. It isn’t natural to remember things like that word-for-word.”

  Siofra tugged at her baggy pants, and it gave me a momentary break from the tension surrounding us. Tynan’s mom almost always wore long skirts, and was in the habit of swishing them around when she was agitated. It had to be frustrating for her to wear unswishable clothes. Her voice brought me back to reality.