Wave of Truth (The Magic Catalyst Chronicles Book 4)

by Jacie Douglass

  “Right,” Jared agrees. “Now you just sit tight, food is on the way.”

  With a final wave, they turn and head towards the food vendors. As I watch them walking away, I can’t help but notes how hot they are, even from behind.

  Ding

  I jump as the vibration from my backpack startles me back from that dangerous train of thought.

  “Need some help, Trouble?” Clayton chuckles. “Turn a little. I’ll get it.”

  I twist on the bench so he can reach my bag and a moment later his energy brushes against my shoulders as he digs for my phone.

  “Got it!” he announces triumphantly.

  “My hero,” I laugh, spinning around and giving him a quick kiss on the check.

  “Damn, I need to be the hero more often,” Clayton smiles brightly, passing me the phone. Snickering, I open the text.

  Nerd Ian: At the van now. Did we need anything else?

  Me: I just need my coat.

  Nerd Ian: Jackets, check

  Angel Sebastian: Do we need a couple blankets for the concert later?

  Rock Star Samil: Good call Bast, we can run out and grab some.

  Tank Clayton: Check under the back seat. There should be a backpack with the camping blankets in it

  Nerd Ian: Got it. If that's everything, we’ll catch the next shuttle

  Vampire Jared: I’m good.

  Me: Me too

  Tank Clayton: Same

  Rock Star Samil: Heading back now, see ya soon.

  Me: Awesome!

  I lock the screen and for a moment consider sticking it in my bra for easier access. Nah, better to have it in my bag, where I won’t worry about losing it.

  I glance over at Clayton and hold up the phone. “Do you mind?”

  “Not at all,” he laughs, grabbing it and motioning for me to turn around. “So how about it, Trouble? What do you think of our little festival?” Clayton asks, as he puts it back in my pack and zips it closed.

  “It’s awesome. When Sebastian told me about the Harvest Festival, I never expected all this.”

  Clayton flashes that brilliant smile of his. “I figured you’d be surprised.”

  “Oh, I’m definitely surprised, and impressed. But it's a little weird that they hold it in November. I mean, wouldn’t it make more sense to have it earlier in the year. I mean the tourist season ends Labor Day weekend, right?”

  “It does, but the Harvest Festival is always the weekend before Thanksgiving. It’s a long standing town tradition. The first one was held the year after the town was officially founded. Of course back then it was just locals. It’s only been over the last ten or fifteen years that it’s grown into… Well, all this.”

  “I’m impressed, Clayton. I thought Samil and the twins were the research nuts. I never would have guessed you were a secret Historian.”

  “I wish I could take the credit,” Clayton laughs, shaking his head. “But it’s all part of growing up in a small town. In grade school, they’d spend at least a couple weeks at the beginning of each year going over local history, both for the town and the island. Ending with a trip to the local history museum.”

  “Damn, I’m almost sorry I didn’t audit a history class.”

  “I’m afraid it wouldn’t have helped, they stop with the local stuff in Junior High.”

  “Well that makes me feel a little better,” I smile. “Although I am still jealous. Learning the local history sounds interesting.”

  “I guess it is, if you don’t spend your whole life here. We get it drilled into us for so long; I think I’d rather go to the dentist than sit through it one more time…” Clayton trails off, running his hand down his face. “Oh shit, I didn’t think that through, I’m sorry Emily.”

  “Hey,” I put my hand on his arm and I wait until he looks at me. Regret shines in his warm chocolate eyes, and I give him a reassuring smile. “It’s ok, I knew what you meant. Losing my memories… well it is what it is. Now I get to make new memories, and learn interesting things, hopefully avoid all the boring stuff. Although now that you’ve told me about it, you have to take me to this local history museum some time. I want to learn more about the town and all these local traditions.”

  Clayton smiles with relief, and wraps his arm around my shoulder. “It’s a date, Trouble.”

  “Perfect! Now, tell me more about the Harvest Festival. Surely these artists aren’t all from the island.”

  “A few of them are, but most of them come here just for the festival. We get crafters and art from all over the country.”

  “Really? That’s crazy. I mean it’s cool for us, but crazy considering how small this place is.”

  “You’d think so, but the country is full of small independent artists. Not everyone makes it big or gets to show in fancy art galleries. Festivals like this give them the opportunity to sell their work, and it draws lots of people. It’s a win-win, for the artists and the island. The hotels and campgrounds are fully booked, the ferry is making extra runs, and the restaurants are at max capacity, not even taking in their booths here. Outside tourist season, this is the biggest weekend of the year.”

  I take another look around at the crowd, as it finally registers just how many people are here today compared to what I normally see on the weekend. And this is just a small part of the festival. The parks were teaming with people too.

  “Huh, I guess I hadn’t paid attention.”

  Clayton throws his head back and laughs. “Damn, Trouble, you really are oblivious to the world sometimes.”

  “Only the unimportant stuff,” I shrug. “I’ve got to keep my eye on you five after all. I don’t have time to pay attention to everyone else.”

  “Damn, you make it sound like we’re the ones getting into trouble all the time.”

  “If the shoe fits.”

  “Ha!” Clayton laughs. “You’re one to talk, Trouble”

  “Pfft. My troubles are on a totally different level than the trouble you guys get into… After all, who got himself stuck in my car?” I ask, raising a brow. “Hmmm…?”

  “That’s a low blow, Trouble.”

  “Maybe, but it’s the truth.”

  “Whatever,” Clayton laughs, shaking his head. “It’s not my fault your car is insanely small.”

  “Ya, ya, so you tell me.” I reply, punching him in the shoulder. Clayton moans, doubling over, and wrapping his arms around his stomach.

  “Hey, are you ok?” I ask, rubbing his back. “I didn’t hit you that hard… Did I?”

  “No, it’s not that…” he gasps.

  “Then what’s wrong, Clayton?”

  “My stomach is killing me,” Clayton groans, frantically looking around. “Damn it, where are they?”

  “Clayton?”

  “Shit, I need to get to a port-a-potty. Walk with me?”

  “Ugh,” I wrinkle my nose. “Umm no offence, but I’d rather not go anywhere near those nasty things. You go on, I’ll wait here.”

  “I don’t want to leave you alone. I’m sure someone will be back soon,” Clayton says, forcing a smile.

  “OMG don’t be stupid, clearly you don’t feel good. Just go, I’ll be fine. Besides, someone needs to stay and watch the table.”

  “If you’re sure…”

  “Seriously, there are a million people around. Just go. Take care of your business; I’ll be fine for 5 minutes. Jared and Bast will be back with food any time now.”

  “Alright, I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

  I laugh, rolling my eyes. “Not to worry, I’ll be right here.”

  Clayton nods once before rushing off. I lean back against the table and breathe out a sigh. The festival’s been awesome but Damn, I’d kill for a foot massage right now.

  Suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and I feel like someone’s watching me. Sitting up straight, I look around. With so many people around, I can’t pinpoint anyone specific.

  I rub my arms, and try to dismiss the feeling as the chill in
the air. Sitting in the shade of the tent, the temperature is definitely dropping. I can’t wait for Ian and Samil to get back with my jacket.

  “Emilienne,” a familiar voice interrupts my thoughts. “It’s so nice to see you.”

  I freeze, trying to calm my panic. Taking a deep breath, I slowly turn around. Ms. Blackmore is sitting on the other side of the table. Where the hell did she come from? Even on the weekend, she looks like she’s come straight from the office. Wearing a conservative gray pantsuit and her hair pulled back in a harsh bun, she clearly didn't know how to take a day off.

  “I was hoping to run into you,” she smiles, pinning me with her cold eyes.

  “Oh?” I question, plastering a smile on my lips. “Well then, I guess it’s your lucky day.”

  “You were in and out so quick last week… We never had an opportunity to talk about the offer on the house.” Her tone is friendly, but negative energy leeches off her in visible waves. “I’m sure you’ve had the opportunity now to see that it’s just far too much responsibility for a young girl like you. That house is meant for a large family.”

  It takes a major effort not to let my smile slip. “Ms. Blackmore, thank you for your concern but as you know, I have a new lawyer now. He’ll be handling any offers on the house. I’m sure the buyer will be hearing from him shortly.”

  “Yes, of course. But I’m representing the seller, and they’re very motivated to complete the purchase as soon as possible.” She reaches out and grabs my hand.

  A familiar burst of malice hits me, accompanied by a piercing pain in my temples. I clutch my head, as everything starts spinning. I try to focus, but my thoughts scatter before I can latch on to them.

  “Emilienne, why don’t you come along with me to my office,” a woman's voice comes from far away.

  I run my hand over my face, trying to clear the fog from my mind.

  “Emilienne…” the voice says again.

  “What?” I mumble, forcing my eyes open.

  Where am I?

  I look around in confusion. There are people everywhere, talking, laughing and eating. WTF. Why are people eating in a tent in a parking lot? And what am I doing here? I don’t have any food, so clearly I’m not here to eat. I try to focus on how I got here, but a shooting pain splits my head making it impossible to think.

  “We can get all of this taken care of for you today,” the voice comes again and I look for the source.

  I find an unfamiliar woman sitting across from me. She looks completely out of place in this casual setting with her expensive suit and severe hairstyle.

  “You won’t have to worry about anything anymore,” she continues as I frown at her.

  “I’m sorry, who are you again?” I ask, rubbing my temples in an attempt to ease the pain.

  “I'm Ms. Blackmore, Emilienne. I’m your lawyer. You asked for my help selling your house. Don’t you remember?” She stares at me expectantly.

  “Oh… I guess it slipped my mind,” I finally answer.

  “We have a buyer and you’re scheduled to sign the paperwork on Monday,” she smiles. “But I saw you here, and I knew it was fate. I’m on my way to meet with them now. How perfect is it that you’re available? You can accompany me and we’ll get everything signed and out of the way. Then you won’t have to worry about it anymore.”

  “I suppose that would be alright.” I say.

  “Perfect, now come along Emilienne.” She says, rising and dusting off her slacks.

  “Alright.” I said, standing up.

  She takes my arm and leads the way along the edge of the crowd. When we reach the sidewalk, she continues past Main Street and a park filled with colorful tents. We walk in silence, and I lose track of how far we’ve gone.

  “Oh, good, there they are now,” she says suddenly, pointing to a pair of men in dark suits. They’re loitering in front of a brick building, halfway down the street. They turn in unison and start towards us. “Emilienne, those are the buyers for the house. As you can see, they’re very anxious to meet you.”

  “Hey Emily,” came a velvety voice from behind us. “You’re late for our date.”

  The voice sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. A man falls into step next to me, wrapping his arm around my waist and a shock of energy rolls over my skin. He pulls me to a stop, and I can’t resist the urge to check out my date. Turning, I’m pleasantly surprised to find he’s an incredibly good looking guy. About my age; tall, with thick dark brown hair, and a handsome face. He’s obviously dressed up for our date, wearing a pale yellow button down shirt and dark navy slacks, and I hope I’m not under dressed. Catching me looking, he leans in and kisses my cheek, sending warm tingles across my skin and I feel myself blushing in response.

  “You look lovely this evening, Emily. I thought we could go out for...”

  Ms. Blackmore clears her throat, interrupting.

  “Oh, Hello Ms. Blackmore,” he says, looking over my head. “I didn’t see you there. I’m sure you won’t mind if I steal Emily away. We have big plans tonight.”

  Without waiting for a response, he turns us around and we walk back towards downtown.

  “Well, actually…” Ms. Blackmore calls, her heels clattering on the sidewalk behind us.

  “Terrific. Oh by the way, my father mentioned he’s been trying to reach you. Please make sure you return his call A.S.A.P.” He walks faster and I struggle a little to keep up with his long strides. “Hope you have a great day, Ms. Blackmore.”

  “Mr. Harris!” She yells. “Mr. Harris!” He doesn’t slow down or acknowledge her calling.

  “Hey, Princess, you ok there?” He leans in and asks.

  “Oh yes, I’m fine. What kind of plans do we have for tonight? Will what I’m wearing be alright? And umm... would you be upset if I told you I can’t seem to remember your name?”

  “No, I’m not upset,” he assures. “It’s Elijah, Princess. But you can call me E, if it’s easier for you.”

  “Ok then, E.”

  “And I have a confession too… We didn’t have plans tonight. Not that I didn’t ask… You just turned me down.” He says ruefully. “I saw you walking with Ms. Blackmore, and I thought you might need a little assistance.”

  “Oh, really? That’s too bad. About the date I mean. I think we would have had fun,” I offer with a shy smile. “But, ummm, why would I need assistance from my lawyer?”

  “She’s not your lawyer, Princess. In fact, I heard you fired Ms. Blackmore earlier this week. Now, I need you to focus for me, we’ve got to get you back to your boyfriends. Are they at the festival?” He asks in a low voice, glancing over his shoulder.

  “My boyfriends?”

  “Damn,” he growls. “Ms. Blackmore’s friends are following us. Come on, this way.” We make a sharp right on to a residential street lined with large older homes. “Looks like we’ll get to have that date after all. How do you feel about historic house tours?”

  “Oh... I guess that might be fun… But I’m kind of hungry.”

  “We’ll get something to eat later, I promise.” E rushes us down the street and through a wrought iron gate. We join the crowd standing out front of the stately white mansion with grand Roman style columns supported the porch.

  How they keep it so white? Do they wash it every day?

  “Who knows, maybe they repaint it whenever it starts looking dirty.” E whispers, weaving between people till we reach the porch stairs.

  “Oops, I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

  “Yep.”

  The front door opens and an elegant woman in an old fashioned gown steps out. “Welcome to historic Dorchester House,” she announces, smiling down at the crowd. “Please join me inside.” She steps back, and the crowd slowly flows into the house. E and I stay in the middle of the crowd as everyone gathers in the entry hall.

  “This lovely house was built in 1798 and was home to the one of the town fathers, Henry Dorchester. It is one of the oldest remaining houses on the island stil
l in its original condition. Thanks to your generous donations, the Arcus Island Historical Society has been able to fund the Dorchester House restoration project, which is currently entering its final phase. Today we have an abbreviated version of the tour, just for our top tier donors.”

  “At its construction, Dorchester House was considered the epitome of luxury, complete with cutting edge amenities. For instance, the chandelier above us was crafted in New York, shipped cross country by rail, and then assembled on site. It is suspended from the ceiling using a custom pulley network hidden in the walls. The system allowed the servants to easily lower the chandelier and light the candles each evening. Each room on the main floor was lit this way until the home was converted to gas lights in the 1800s and then to electricity in the 1900s. To your left, we have the drawing room, where guests were entertained by the family. The original pocket doors disappeared into the walls, allowing the room to be used for large gatherings or closed off for more intimate parties. To your right, you can see the formal dining room, which connects to a smaller morning room.

  “All the carpet rods used on the double staircase are hand made with sterling silver. Now, if you please, follow me upstairs, and make sure to stay with the group. For your safety, do not cross the ropes or touch anything. The furniture you will see here is all original to the time period, if not to the house itself.”

  I move with the crowd towards the stairs, but E slips his arm through mine and holds me back. The tour guide's voice drifts down as the last of the people disappears upstairs.

  “Hold on, Princess,” he whispers, peering out the window flanking the door. “Hell, they’re coming up to the house.” Looking around, he pulls me towards the cordoned off dining room. “Come on, we’ll hide and wait them out.” E drops the rope and pulls me into the dark room. The tour groups’ footsteps echo above us, and I nervously bite my lip. Keeping us close to the wall, he runs his hands along the wood panels.

  The sound of the front door opening is incredibly loud in the silence. I press up against E’s back, glancing over my shoulder at the entrance.

  “Got it,” he whispers triumphantly. There’s a soft click sound and the wall swings open.