Nation of the Sun (The Ancient Souls Series Book 1)

by HR Moore

  'So my subconscious keeps telling me. Nearly all the memories involve us kissing,' she said, kissing him again, 'or … doing other things …'

  Caspar growled, squeezing her neck. 'Don't say things like that.'

  Amari laughed. 'What? Kissing? Or is it the other things you'd rather I didn't reference?'

  'I told you not to tease me,' he said, nipping her lip.

  She gasped, then ran a nail down his neck.

  'Amari,' he breathed, 'we should stop.'

  'I know,' she whispered, kissing him one final time.

  And then, too soon, she was gone.

  'So, let me get this straight,' said Amari, through a mouthful of toast and orange marmalade. 'You comb the world for genius kids, because they're more likely to be demons than genuine prodigies?'

  'Yep,' said Jon.

  'That's kind of sad,' said Amari.

  'I know,' said Talli. 'It's so much nicer to think they're remarkable.'

  'But when you do find a genuine one, it's even more awesome,' said Christa.

  'So, wait, what about the famous ones? Mozart? Pascal? Picasso?'

  'All demons,' said Jon, with a shrug.

  'Are they still around? Can I meet them?' asked Amari, realizing the possibilities.

  'Mozart and Pascal are both dead. They were already old when they did their cool stuff, hence why they could do their cool stuff. They died of natural old age,' said Jon.

  'That's really a thing?' asked Amari.

  'Of course,' said Christa, 'everyone dies eventually.'

  'How old are we talking?'

  'Oh, a few thousand years at the upper end,' said Talli.

  'A lot don't make it much past a thousand though,' said Christa.

  'How old's Raina?' asked Amari, an edge of panic creeping through her.

  'Over a thousand,' laughed Talli. 'But she's got a good millennium in her yet, don't you worry.'

  'How can you be so sure?'

  'People usually die early because they want to,' said Talli. 'Raina's not the type to give up on life.'

  'Okay, good. And what about Picasso? Is he still alive?'

  'Thought to be,' said Elliot, 'but he's gone to ground.'

  'That's artists for you,' said Jon.

  'Hey,' said Talli, 'you're young. You'll probably have an artist phase too, you know.'

  'Doubtful,' said Jon. 'I'm more of a businessman than an artist.'

  'Do you have any idea how pompous you sound?' asked Talli.

  'You're a textbook young demon,' said Meredith. 'Money, success, showy cars, yachts in the Med, big houses, lavish parties …'

  'There's nothing wrong with any of that,' said Jon, defensively, 'and it keeps everyone here fed.'

  They all laughed at that.

  'You'll become an artist soon enough,' said Christa.

  'An artist?' asked Amari.

  'Second phase of a demon's progression through life,' said Christa. 'People lose interest in money and look for ways to express themselves.'

  'I think you'll make a good artist,' Meredith said to Jon, cocking a provocative eyebrow.

  Jon flushed. 'Well, I guess, maybe, under the right circumstances,' he spluttered.

  They erupted into laughter.

  'I'm looking forward to my artist phase,' said Elliot.

  Gemma smiled encouragingly at him. Knowing looks were shared up and down the table.

  'In fact, I might start today; I'm bored of money.'

  'Good for you,' said Talli.

  'Did I have a long money-obsessed phase?' asked Amari.

  They laughed again.

  'You?' said Talli, banging the table. 'You were the worst of us all. And you didn't stop at money. You liked power: king—and queen—making, running business empires, investing, dabbling in politics.

  'You're the reason we don't have to worry about putting food on the table, and never will have to. You would've been a natural Templar …'

  Amari wasn't sure if that was meant as a compliment or an insult, but it stung.

  'What about my artist phase?'

  'Short and sweet,' said Caspar as he entered the room. Their eyes met for a split second before he looked away, the thrill of this morning hanging between them. 'You produced some beautiful works, but you destroyed most of them shortly afterwards.'

  'Why?!' Amari had been about to ask if she could see them.

  'Because you're a perfectionist, and you didn't think any of them were good enough. But I managed to smuggle a couple of them out,' said Caspar, looking pleased with himself.

  'Can I see them?' asked Amari.

  'There's one at Maltings,' said Caspar. 'You can see it later.'

  'What happens after the artist phase?' said Amari.

  'Everyone gets deep and meaningful and wants to find the purpose of life,' said Jon. 'They disappear for lifetimes on end, meditating in the Himalayas, desperately trying to come up with an answer.'

  'I did that,' said Meredith. 'It's where I learned some of my best fighting moves.'

  'Oh, well, I didn't mean you. You came back with something to show for it.'

  The laughter tipped Jon over the edge.

  'I'm going to work. Where, I'll have you know, I'm one of the top-earning traders in the city.'

  'He's a way off his artist phase yet,' said Elliot.

  'Has Raina worked out the meaning of life yet?' asked Amari, jovially.

  The energy plummeted. Amari looked around, worried she'd said something terrible.

  'I'm not sure anyone's really worked that out,' Talli said kindly. 'But you focused more on the people you care about. That's what mattered to you—protecting them.'

  Caspar and Amari travelled to Somerset in a Range Rover with Talli, Christa, and Meredith. Meredith drove, Amari in the front with her, the other three piled into the back.

  Amari was preoccupied by Caspar's searing presence behind her, wondering if he'd reach out and touch her, both wishing he would and praying he didn't.

  They hadn't been alone since that morning, and Amari couldn't stop thinking about it. She could still feel the kisses on her bruised lips; she hadn't been kissed like that since … had she ever been kissed like that?

  Amari looked down at her hands, eyes wandering to the rings on her fingers. The ones on her left hand tied her to Dean, the one on her right to Caspar. Only one of them she couldn't live without … not that it helped with the guilt.

  She had to tell Dean, and it had to be done face to face. Until then, she couldn't let anything else happen with Caspar. She'd kissed him, in part to see if it would finally wake her. Seeing as it hadn't, there was no justification for doing it again.

  They were mostly quiet during the journey, Talli the only one to attempt conversation. 'What's got into you lot?' she asked. 'There's some weird energy going on in here.'

  'If you say so,' said Meredith.

  The rest of them remained quiet.

  'Even you?' said Talli, turning on Christa.

  'I just want to stare out the window, Tals,' said Christa, kissing the back of Talli's hand.

  Talli huffed, leant her head against Christa's shoulder, and went to sleep.

  Eventually, they reached the tiny Somerset village of Buttercross, which was no more than a handful of well-kept cottages, a church, a village hall, and an old malt house. It was a beautiful, immaculate place. Flowers draped from window boxes, the road signs were made of wood, the hedges were perfectly clipped, and the roads were swept.

  Meredith maneuvered the Range Rover down a small, rugged track next to the malt house. The track was packed earth and gravel with a runner of grass growing down the middle, fields on either side. They followed it to its termination at an old, rambling, crumbling farmhouse.

  Amari felt prickles of familiarity and anticipation as they approached. It had cut-stone mullion windows and a square, wooden front door. The drive afforded them a good view of the front of the house and lawns, then took them round the back, where they parked in a graveled courtyard. A serie
s of stone outbuildings dotted the perimeter, and a five-bar gate led to paddocks beyond.

  Amari couldn't take it all in fast enough. Caspar had said they owned the house together, and, strangely, it felt like it was hers—like it was home. She drank in every detail of their surroundings. A low wall grabbed her attention, then a pile of terracotta pots, then a delicate yellow rose climbing the side of the house.

  'Want to see inside?' asked Caspar, watching her every move.

  Amari flicked her gaze to him. She was sure she looked like an excited child, but didn't care. Caspar laughed as she practically skipped to the back door.

  'Finally,' called Talli, 'some energy! This is more like it!'

  Caspar held the door open for Amari, stepping back so she could enter the boot room first.

  'Not the most glamorous entrance, but it's easier than walking round to the front,' said Caspar.

  Amari looked around the square little room, with its walls lined with empty pegs. She took in the low wooden benches, a wooden bucket in the corner, and, set off to one side, an ajar door to the downstairs loo. It had the sad, empty feel that a house got when you moved out of it; a space devoid of anything that made it a home.

  Amari followed the flagstones through a white wooden door with six glass panels at the top, down a short, wide corridor, and into the kitchen.

  Her heart sank; the kitchen had seen better days. It was falling apart. If it had been well maintained, it would've been stunning, worthy of a lifestyle magazine. It had all the right features: a central island with herbs hanging from a rack above, an Aga, a rustic kitchen table and full-height dressers, a free-standing butcher's block, and windows above the sink that overlooked a walled kitchen garden beyond.

  But two of the windows had cracked panes, the herb drying rack looked like it could fall at any minute, one of the table legs was propped up by pieces of wood, the dressers had doors hanging off at odd angles, the garden was a jumble of weeds, and a thick coating of cobwebs and dirt covered the whole place.

  'How did it get like this?' demanded Amari, whirling to face Caspar, anger running hot in her veins. Jesus … why do I even care?

  Caspar took a step back in surprise. 'Well, I mean, I suppose it's seen better days, but everything still works.'

  'The place is falling apart.'

  'It's not that bad,' he protested, but Amari had already stormed past him, down the corridor and into the front entrance hall.

  She took a left and found herself in a long sitting room, with window seats, beams, and an inglenook fireplace. The room was in a similar state of disrepair, although at least all the window panes were intact.

  She crossed to the other side of the room, through a door that led to a study. It too was a state. Her eyes took in the moth-eaten curtains, ruined desk, and sun-damaged books, but when her gaze flicked to the far wall, she was brought up short. Hanging there was a painting: an abstract countryside scene in a plain gold frame. It had rolling hills, the possibility of water, and a stormy summer sky. It called to her like a homing beacon.

  'I'm sorry,' said Caspar, entering the room. 'I should've got someone to fix the place up before bringing you here. I didn't even think. I've made a couple of calls, and there'll be a team here to sort the place out ASAP. They're going to start later today. I didn't come here in my last life … it was too … Amari? Are you okay?'

  Amari hadn't even turned around. The painting was captivating. It held her, reminding her of the brush strokes she'd made, of where she'd been, how she'd felt when she'd painted it.

  'Amari?' said Caspar. He placed a hand on her shoulder.

  His touch snapped her out of her trance. 'That's the painting you were talking about, isn't it? The one I painted? The one you saved?'

  Caspar's eyes flicked to the painting. He gave a small nod.

  'It's beautiful. I'm glad you rescued it.'

  'Did it bring back a memory?'

  Amari turned back to look at it. 'Not really … not like the others, but I can remember painting it. It's almost like my hands would know what to do if I picked up a brush.'

  'Want to try it?' he asked, eagerly.

  'Maybe later. I want to see the rest of the house.'

  Caspar showed her around, apologizing again and again for the state of the place.

  Once she'd finished looking at the dining and drawing rooms on the ground floor, he showed her the four large bedrooms, three bathrooms, and dressing room upstairs.

  Strangely, Amari's favorite place was the upstairs landing. It was wide and cozy, a plush Persian rug covering the floor, a chaise longue along the wall. She lay back on the chaise and looked out through the window, taking in first the gardens, and then the rolling fields beyond.

  'You loved to watch the sunset from there,' said Caspar, from where he waited halfway down the stairs.

  'This spot … it makes me feel content,' she said. 'It's the weirdest thing.'

  The rest of the day was spent cleaning, tidying, directing the clean-up team that had magically appeared, and deciding what modernizations needed to be made.

  Amari was a house renovation pro; she and Dean had flipped several properties during the London property boom. So she didn't waste any time before making a list of things to change.

  Top priority were carpets, improved plumbing, additional radiators, a new boiler—thank God it was summer—an upgrade to the wiring, new mattresses—there were mice in more than one of the existing ones—new curtains, and new linens and towels.

  She and Caspar drove to the nearest supermarket to make a dent in the list, as well as to pick up a bucketload of cleaning essentials and some basic food items.

  Amari was invigorated. It felt so good to have purpose, to be in charge of something, and Caspar seemed delighted that she was taking the lead.

  'Where will the others stay during Midsummer?' asked Amari, as they drove back to the house. 'They won't all fit in our house …'

  Her face turned red. Our house. How had she come to think of this place as hers so soon? How was it that she felt so comfortable playing house with Caspar?

  Caspar smiled, then reached out to take her hand. He was hesitant, and that more than anything pushed Amari to let him entwine their fingers. A hum of belonging buzzed through her as he did.

  'Every house in the village is owned by demons,' said Caspar. 'Rose owns one, and so do Talli and Christa. Meredith, Jon, and Elliot will stay with us, and I guess maybe Gemma too. But they won't be here until closer to the celebration, so it'll just be Meredith for now.'

  'And what about everyone else?' asked Amari. 'From the way Talli talks, it sounds like there'll be hundreds of people.'

  Caspar barked out a laugh then rubbed his thumb across Amari's skin. She had to try very hard to focus on his words, ignoring first the excitement, and then the pang of guilt that accompanied his movements.

  'It won't be quite that big. There'll be about a hundred of us. Anyone who doesn't fit in one of the cottages will either rough it in the malt house, bring tents, or stay in one of the local pubs or bed and breakfasts.'

  'And Talli runs the show?'

  'Heaven help anyone who tries to get in her way!' said Caspar. 'The main celebration will take place in the field behind the malt house. It has a brilliant view, and the energy's perfect; it's on a ley line that leads directly to Stonehenge.'

  'I'm sorry, what?' She was expected to believe in ley lines now?

  'Ley lines? Lines of power that traverse the globe?'

  'Yes,' snapped Amari, 'I know what they are. You're saying they're real?'

  'Of course. Power pools around the lines; it's how magic travels around the world.'

  'Right.'

  Caspar laughed. 'You don't believe me?'

  'I'm not sure what to believe any longer.'

  Chapter 11

  By the time Amari and Caspar got back to the house, the team had worked miracles. The pegs in the boot room were loaded with Barbour coats and down-filled jackets. Piles of flat caps and wa
x and woolen hats sat on a shelf above, rows of wellie boots underneath. The wooden bucket in the corner had even been filled with walking sticks with elaborately carved tops.

  It turned out most of their cleaning supplies were obsolete; a local cleaning firm had come in with their own products. They'd cleaned the place from top to bottom, and the surfaces practically sparkled.

  The rest of the team had fixed anything they could find that was broken, taken out things that were beyond repair, cut the grass in the garden, and someone had even purchased new mattresses for all four bedrooms.

  'This is wild,' said Amari, taking in the transformation. 'How did you get these guys here on such short notice?'

  'We employ them to look after all the properties in the village. Seeing as it's Midsummer, they'd already lined up reinforcements. They're human, but we pay them well enough that they don't ask questions. Before today, I told them not to bother with this place, given that I wasn't using it, and didn't want anyone else to use it either. I couldn't come here and not think constantly of you …'

  When they'd finished looking around downstairs, Amari went back to the kitchen, looking for the bed linens they'd bought. Her shopping wasn't where she'd left it.

  'Did you move the sheets?' asked Amari.

  'No,' said Caspar, 'but I know some people who probably did.'

  'You're kidding. Already?'

  'They're efficient.'

  One of the team, a middle-aged woman called Helen, entered the kitchen. She was short, plump, and stern-looking, her lined face forming a formidable expression.

  'We're going to borrow a spare duvet and pillows from one of the other houses,' said Helen. 'The ones here need to be replaced. We'll buy new ones for you tomorrow.'

  'We'll need two beds,' said Amari quickly, before events could run even further away from her.

  'Three,' said Caspar. 'Meredith's staying too.'

  'Three duvets it is, then,' said Helen. 'What would you like to do about curtains and paint colors? Shall I pick out the fabric and colors, or would you like to?' She looked expectantly at Amari, as did Caspar.

  'I'd love to pick them out,' said Amari. 'And we probably need to get some of the furniture re-upholstered, and some throw cushions to make it feel more homely.'