by Cate Tiernan
“Yes, and probably.” As dangerously compelling as he was when he was regular old taciturn Reyn, this slightly lighter, more approachable Reyn was devastating. As per usual, I wanted to climb onto his lap. But with an uncharacteristic self-awareness, I recognized that though the impulse was, God knew, legitimate—still, wanting to do it now was exactly like hungering for a margarita: something to distract me, make me feel different from whatever I was feeling.
Reyn nodded. “I hate sitting with my feelings. Really hate it. Never want to do it.”
“Me too!” Could I jump him now? Now that he was clearly the only person in the world who truly understood me?
“But I understand why one needs to do it,” he said slowly, twisting a piece of hay between long, strong fingers.
“Explain it to me again,” I said unenthusiastically.
He hesitated, thinking. “The whole time I was chieftain of my clan, my main emotion was… anger. Whatever the situation, my response was almost always anger. When I was angry, I knew what to do: conquer something. Subdue something. Break something. Finally, after a hundred years of that, I just… melted down and left, left my people forever. It was another two hundred years before I realized that anger is my best weapon to mask fear or uncertainty.” He gave a crooked grin. “Only two hundred years.”
“Quit showing off.”
“Even after I gave up being chieftain, I still… fought. In almost any war I could find. Because expending anger on a battlefield was such a release. And it helped me to not do it in regular life, to people who didn’t deserve it. Here, I’ve come to see that the only true negative emotion is fear.” His voice was quiet, almost masked by the sound of rain hitting the roof.
“Fear?” But Reyn never seemed afraid—only angry. Oh.
“Every negative or hurtful emotion comes from fear,” Reyn said. “Fear that you’ll get hurt, fear that you’ll lose something, fear that someone won’t love you the way you love them. When I fear something, it’s unbearable. So I get angry instead.”
“Oh—like when you yelled at me for doing badly in class,” I said, a little string of Christmas lights going off in my head.
His face was grim. “I’m afraid that you’ll get hurt if you don’t get stronger, faster.” He already seemed angry, a muscle twitching in his jaw.
I was afraid of a lot of things—River giving up on me, me liking Reyn more than he liked me, Brynne not wanting to be friends with me. I was afraid of Incy and whatever he was into—and that the so-called master was real, and truly interested in me. I was my father’s only heir—what if I’m a complete screwup? What if that’s all he got, one living screwup to inherit everything he’d worked for, everything he and my mother had been?
But something else was going on. Slowly I tried to follow the thread of anxiety.
“Yesterday, at the shop, I found out my general contractor has been hiring more people than I knew, kind of putting as many people on the payroll as possible—including a boy who’s… simple, who’s doing all the sweeping. I wasn’t mad at Bill—he’s trying to create jobs for people, and no one’s sitting around on their ass and getting paid for it. But after the boy’s mom came to get him, she was so thankful to me, said the job meant so much to him, and I felt terrible. I wanted to run, didn’t want anything more to do with the shops, never wanted to see any of them again.”
Reyn’s hand reached out and took mine, and its strong warmth made me feel like I was connected to a… mountain or something.
“And then just now, everyone all—happy for me, I’m blooming, whatever—I never want to go through that. I don’t want anyone to say anything ever again. I’m doing the stupid project, and they should just shut up about it, you know?” My free hand clenched a bunch of straw.
A small, white, triangular head nudged around Reyn’s side, and I almost jumped.
“Jesus, did that dog climb the ladder?” That was just freakish.
“What are you doing, girl?” Reyn murmured, picking up Dúfa and setting her on his lap. She gave his chin a sleepy lick, sprawled, and zonked out immediately.
“The ladder is really steep,” I pointed out. “And the rungs are far apart.”
“She’s really something,” he said with amused pride.
“She’s really a freaking monkey.”
There was never anyone else who was as beautiful when he smiled, I thought, feeling a little dazed by the overwhelming force of longing.
“But back to you,” he said, stroking the small head. I couldn’t help feeling resentful of Dúfa—why did she get to sit on his lap and climb on him and lick him?
When I didn’t say anything, he looked at me. “Have you figured any of it out?”
I shook my head, waved my hand around the hayloft. “This was as far as I got.”
“Do you feel like… maybe you don’t deserve to have anyone think good things about you?”
I blinked, and my mouth opened with a witty retort, but nothing came out. He waited patiently. “Well, I mean… I kind of don’t,” I muttered, not looking at him. “I’m… so awful. I mean, I know that.”
“Nas… we’re all awful. That’s why we’re here.” There was wry amusement in his voice. “Remember when you were pissed at Charles and Jess and told them off because they were in no position to judge you?”
I nodded.
His voice was amazingly gentle. “You’re judging yourself so much more harshly than anyone else here. You know everyone here is or has been a walking disaster—even River. With the stuff she’s done, do you think she deserves to have anyone think well of her today?”
“I know what you’re getting at, Dr. Phil,” I said stiffly. “But all of River’s bad stuff was, like, a thousand years ago. A thousand. A thousand years. My stuff was last fall.”
“I’m not going to wait a thousand years for you to get over yourself,” he said. He took off his barn jacket and spread it on the hay, then scooped Dúfa off his lap and snuggled her up in it. She didn’t even wake up.
The man made a nest for a puppy. I’m sure this eliminates any doubt in your mind about what I was doing with him.
Reyn sat up on his heels and braced his hands on his thighs, his laser gaze focused on me. Please, please don’t suggest sword practice.
“Come here.” Very soft.
“What?” I bluffed.
He crawled toward me and pushed me down into the hay very slowly. With one arm he gathered me to him, so we were face-to-face on our sides. Some of my hair fell in my eyes, and he smoothed it away as if I were Dúfa.
“I’m not going to wait a thousand years,” he said again, and a little shiver fluttered in my chest. “And you may not wait a thousand years for me. You, me, everyone here, everyone in the world, immortals, regular people—everyone is a work in progress. Some of us have farther to go. Some of us will only go backward. You’re going forward. I’m going forward. And you can’t stop me or anybody else from… thinking good things about you.” His eyes roamed down my body with its shapeless sweatshirt and typically ratty jeans. Starting under my arm, he pressed my sweatshirt flat against me, learning my shape beneath it.
Several of my brain cells were still functioning, and I murmured, “I’m not a good person. I feel like I’m tricking them when they think I am.” His hand slid under my sweatshirt and started to tug my undershirt out from my waistband. Reyn pressed his mouth against my temple, my brow, his lips moving sweetly against my skin.
“How about if we just think you’re a person doing some good things?”
I couldn’t focus. One of my hands was trapped, but the other one was already gliding over the smooth skin of his back, a sheet of heavy silk stretched over taut muscles.
“What?”
I felt him smile against my forehead, and he moved down a couple inches and kissed my mouth, causing my arm to curl around him and pull him closer to me.
“I’ll tell you later.” And then we were all wrapped up in each other, kissing and kissing so deeply, the way w
e did, as if we’d been starved of kisses for four hundred years and could now have our fill.
CHAPTER 15
Okay, everyone all together now: What happens when things start going right?
The shit hits the fan. You are correct, sir.
Bad dreams I couldn’t remember woke me in the deepest part of the night. I had no idea what they were about, but my heart was pounding and my breathing shallow with some unnamed dread. I lay awake until dawn.
Finally, a good hour before I had any hopes of breakfast being ready, I got up, pulled on some cords, a turtleneck, a thin scarf (of course), and a sweater, and went downstairs to check the chore chart. I was on eggs. But the devil-chicken was in the barn, so I wouldn’t have to deal with her. I picked up the wire basket in the kitchen and practically skipped outside—
Only to stop in confusion: A big, charred line, maybe two feet wide, circled the house, as far as I could see. Some kind of circle of protection, maybe, that River and the other teachers had done last night? Okay, only two feet wide and easy to cross, but one second pre-hop, I hesitated. Just to be sure, I went inside to ask; with my luck, the first person to cross it would totally screw things up, and a big purple cloud would follow me all day so everyone would know. Like I needed that.
River was just starting to set things out to make breakfast and looked up in surprise when I came in. “You’re up awfully early.”
“Couldn’t sleep. Hey, is that big circle okay to go over? Should I just jump?”
She blinked. “What big circle?”
“Uh… the one outside that goes all around the house? Seems jumpable, but I didn’t want to mess it up.” Responsible Nastasya.
River quickly wiped her hands on a dishcloth. “Show me.”
Turns out, big charred circle all around your house? Not a good thing. Not someone writing I heart you on the front lawn with bleach. There was a big brouhaha; much consultation; some pained looks given to yours truly by very old Italian men; general consternation. River and Asher decided to have the four teachers disperse it, purify the ground beneath it, and then rake hay over the charred earth.
Between you and me, it made my knees quake. Despite the ongoing suspicion and disapproval from River’s brothers, everything had been quiet for weeks; I’d pretty much allowed myself to believe that with Incy safely put away at Louisette’s, maybe everything would just… be okay. But that would be too easy, wouldn’t it?
Later I was trying to decide whether to go to town—would it be better to, say, crawl under my bed and hope everything would just blow over? What if I stayed there for several days?
“Are you wondering about going to town?” River asked, coming upon me in the front hallway.
I scowled. “No. Of course I’m going to town.”
She didn’t smile. “Maybe you should stick close to home today.”
Naturally that made me grab my jacket and shove my arms into it. I’m nothing if not stubborn and impulsive.
“Nastasya—we don’t know who did this or if they’re still around or who their target is. It seems likely that the target is you. You, in town by yourself—”
“I’ll be surrounded by a bunch of burly guys,” I pointed out. “And burly gals.”
Anne came up then, pulling a red beret over her shiny, dark pageboy. “I thought I would go with you today, Nas. Want to see all the action close-up.”
I looked from her to River. “Like you couldn’t be more subtle.”
Anne grinned. “Nope. And I’m driving.”
Once downtown, we were both impressed by the bustling activity at my shops. There was now a Dumpster in the empty lot next door, and it was filling with debris. Even as we drove up, a pickup truck was disgorging five guys in jeans and work shirts.
We had to gently push through a small crowd of locals who were standing around, watching everything.
“Wow—this project has really ballooned,” Anne said as I opened the door of the shop on the end, the one that had my office in its front window.
“I’m paying more people every week,” I said.
Anne looked around the big space, empty except for sawhorses to hold large pieces of plywood or drywall. “This looks wonderful, Nastasya! Wow, this really takes me back—this store used to have a wonderful lunch counter. Is this the shop you haven’t rented yet?”
“Yeah.”
Workers walked by, greeting me by name. I saw a battered Toyota stop at the curb; a guy got out and tipped his hard hat at Anne and me. Then the other car door opened, and a woman got out holding a tin lunch box.
“Alan!”
The guy stopped, took his lunch, and kissed her with a shy smile. Up close I saw that the two of them couldn’t be more than twenty-two or twenty-three. The woman gazed after him, her eyes shining. Then she focused on me.
“Are you the girl that’s doing this, like, for a school project?”
“Kind of,” I said.
“Well, it is just so cool,” the young woman said. “And man—I swear, the day I admitted we finally had to go on food stamps—that was the day Alan came home and said he had a job.”
“Ah,” I said, sensing my first twinges of alarm.
“It was like God’s hand, reaching down to help us up.”
Oh no. “Oh, good,” I said weakly, aware of Anne’s eyes on me.
“Well, bless you,” she said, heading for the door. “I’m going to remember you in my prayers, you can be sure of that.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks.”
Then, mercifully, she was gone, and I let out a breath.
“It’s so hard,” Anne said, and I turned to her, grateful she knew how I felt. “Being Saint Nastasya.”
“Oh, jeezum,” I said, swatting her arm in disgust.
Laughing, she headed toward the back. “I’m going to check out the rest of the place.”
“Yes, please,” I said, irritated. “Please go and check things out.”
I could still hear her chuckling as I sat down at my little desk in the window.
The day before I had decided to buy the empty lot next door, the one that the Dumpster now sat on. It wasn’t very big, but it was a real eyesore, with patches of broken concrete, three cement steps that led nowhere, weeds growing up through the cracks, and a bunch of trash that people had dumped. If I bought it, I could have my enormous workforce clear it out, rip up the concrete. Then I could make it into a little garden, kind of how River described, and people would at least have one nice freaking place to sit and not have to stare at their dying Main Street.
I got on the phone and called the number on the ancient FOR SALE sign that lay half buried in mud.
It was almost lunch before I had tracked down the right person, and by the time I hung up, I felt like my last nerve had just been squeezed by a python. A python with an aggressive sales quota to make.
Leaning back in my chair, I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples for a few minutes. Anne hadn’t returned, and I wondered where she’d gone.
When I finally sighed and opened my eyes, it was to see Joshua standing over me, holding a hammer.
My heart leaped into high gear, not in a fun way but in a “is this guy going to whack me in the head with a hammer?” way.
“Joshua,” I said evenly, refusing to show fear. Except that my eyes were probably about to pop out of my head. “What’s up?”
He raised his hammer slightly. “I’m here to work.”
“So… you know carpentry? Or something?”
“Yes.”
“My general contractor is a guy named Bill. He looks like the Marlboro Man in a hard hat. He can push you in the right direction.”
Joshua gave one brief nod, and I watched him head toward the back, where a lot of rebuilding was happening. He was tall, wide, and rangy, just like Reyn. I wondered how many times they’d faced each other on the battlefield. I wondered what the rest of his story was. He’d been in the memories that River had shown me, but he had been so different then—I barely recognized him.
Well, a lot can happen in a thousand years. It was funny that bright, vivacious Brynne, with her striking, teen-model beauty, would be attracted to him.
Lunch that day was curried-chicken wraps with lime-peanut-cilantro sauce, which of course César couldn’t have because of the peanuts. That’s all I needed, another hospital bill. Alan traded him his lunch.
“This is terrific,” Anne said, taking another bite. She and I were eating at my “desk.” “You got these from Pitson’s?”
I nodded. “We’re at the mercy of thwarted-chef Julie Pitson. Pass the sauce, willya?”
Something made me glance up, and I saw a man standing at the window, looking in. When he came in he seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him. You see a lot of faces in 450 years.
“Yes?” I said, knowing he was about to ask for work.
“Why, Roberto!” Anne said, standing up and giving him a hug. “Nastasya! This is River’s brother Roberto!”
“Oh good,” I said. “You can never have too many.” I put my elbows on the table and held my forehead in my hands.
“We’ve been enjoying our visit with Ottavio, Daniel, and Joshua!” Anne said, perky as all get-out. I groaned quietly.
“Who’s Joshua?” Roberto asked.
“The one right below River.”
“Mi stai prendendo in giro!”
“She’s not kidding,” I said glumly. “And now we have the complete set. Excellent.”
“Come, Bertino,” said Anne. “I’ll give you a ride to the house. Nastasya—you’re doing something wonderful here. I’m proud of you.”
I managed a tight smile. After they left I sat for a moment, wondering if Roberto was an actor or a model or something. Surely I’d seen his face before. Well, he had the family resemblance to the others, I guessed. His hair was lighter, longer, and curlier than his brothers’, and his face looked younger and less troubled, but still, House of Genoa all the way.
Woo-hoo. Couldn’t wait for dinnertime.
And at dinnertime, I got that Roberto seemed to be the family favorite: Even Joshua’s and Ottavio’s faces softened when they looked at him.
