Chapter 44 #2
Three SUVs traveled ahead of us, three behind.
My knee bounced with agitation as I stared out at the winding freeway, the shield of hardened air shimmering around us like heat waves.
All around us, cars and trucks peeled off toward the lakeside neighborhoods or climbed the hills toward the mansions overlooking the water.
My gaze locked on the Monarch Tower, a streamlined monolith with a glass face that reflected the water.
The Monarch Tower, which mysteriously had a power shortage twelve years ago.
And something peculiar occurred.
A burst of memory, like a bubble of time, arose in my mind.
And I speared back to a moment when I was five years old.
My mother stood in front of a gigantic shelf lined with glass jars. She gave me the stern-mom-eye. “Empty all your pockets, Gray.”
“Come on, Mom,” I grouched, toeing the ground and folding my arms over my chest. “I haven’t taken anything.”
“Now,” she warned, stabbing a finger downward.
My shoulders sagged in defeat, knowing there was no way out of this. I reluctantly dug into my pants pockets and fished out a handful of oddities. They were so weirdly cool too, with strange names stamped on the labels of the jars I’d borrowed them from.
With a petulant poke of my bottom lip and a glare, I held my fists over Mom’s cupped hands and let the bits and pieces fall into her palms.
Mom held my gaze, arched a brow, and said, “Alllllll your pockets, Gray. All the secret places on your suit.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake!
My mother and the memory dissolved away.
I blinked, coming back to the here and now. Excitement hummed in my blood. I had to find out where we’d been all those years ago.
I suddenly realized the limousine was slowing down and we were turning into the lakeside parking lot.
It was emptying at the end of a busy day with visitors who had come down to enjoy running the trails or a stroll through the gardens.
The driver parked, and the SUV convoy deployed.
The men and women broke into smaller groups to sweep the area and keep me in sight.
My driver opened the door, and I ducked out. A cool fall breeze ran windy fingers through my hair and slid along my cheeks to wind around my neck, the silvery lake bringing with it an earthy scent.
I jogged off, making my way quickly beneath the arched stone entranceway to the lake’s garden.
The sun was slowly sinking beneath the horizon, burning the lush landscape with fiery reds and oranges.
In the distance came the sound of rustling reeds and tree limbs creaking at the water’s edge, their boughs dripping curled leaves over the ruffled waves rolling onto the shore.
My boots sank into the neatly clipped grass as I stalked fast across the lawn to the shorefront, and then they sank into stones and pebbles.
I half-bent over, shuffling along the shore, scouring it for something specific.
Squatting down every so often, my fingers raked through the water-smoothed pebbles, and I plucked out a few swiftly.
I searched for small, flat stones of the same size with bleeding greens and shots of white, all similar to one another so that if something sat amongst them, it would stand out.
Movement caught my attention, and I glanced over my shoulder.
A guy was crouched down in front of a bush with dense, snowy-white flowers.
His finger stroked a windburned leaf, and for a moment I swore the leaf shivered at his touch, and where it once was furled and aged, it now seemed more green.
Maybe it was the dying rays of light, the wind stirred by sundown. Or maybe something else altogether.
He caught me staring.
I met vibrant blue eyes framed by wild blond hair, the longer ends grazing broad shoulders.
He didn’t wear a gardener’s uniform. Under a battered leather jacket, his t-shirt had faded to a washed-out gray, and his jeans showed wear.
He rose, wiping his dirt-dusted hands on his thighs and nodding toward the setting sun. “It’s beautiful this time of day.”
“Sure is,” I muttered, standing and approaching. In my periphery, I saw the guards’ attention honed in on him, several closing the gap as they drew nearer.
I jingled the stones I’d collected in my hand, and I felt his interest in me, his gaze running across my figure and my face. He looked to be a few years younger than me, maybe Nelle’s age.
I’d intrigued him.
I was curious about him too. There was a quality to his eyes that reminded me of Sirro’s, a strange agelessness in their depth for someone so young.
I jutted my chin at the bushy phlox flowers. “The White Flames are blooming later than usual.”
He half-swiveled around to follow my line of sight before rounding to face me and smiling. “Oh, you know about these?”
“My mother used to come here a lot.”
He blinked, and his gaze narrowed on me thoughtfully before he angled his head toward a weeping willow, its graceful boughs and fronds swaying in the breeze.
In this little patch of the lakeside gardens, it seemed to have turned itself over to a woodland arrangement with wildflowers free to tuck themselves between tree roots and to ramble unchecked in the raised beds.
“I can understand the draw of these gardens for your mother. Whenever I swing by Ascendria, I like to come down here.” He glanced over the plantings before skimming the lake, its waters a palette of fire from the dying sun’s last exhale.
His voice became wistful. “This place holds many memories for me too. I always hope to run into an old friend here, but I haven’t seen her for years. ”
But then his gaze sliced back to mine, and blond brows inched together when he clicked at what I’d said earlier. “Used to?”
“My mom, she’s been away for a while now,” I replied vaguely, shifting my booted feet into a wider stance and crushing the grass beneath their soles.
“But we hope she will return home soon.” Normally I’d stick to what the Houses knew—that my mother was dead.
But for some reason, there was a strange urge to tell him the truth, almost as if I couldn’t hold it back.
He studied my black eyes, and I scanned his blue ones.
And then suddenly, there seemed to be something that flashed across his expression so fast, at first I wasn’t sure if I’d seen it. But I tasted it on my tongue. A zinging metallic jolt. Doubt and wondrous possibility mingling together. And then the emotion was wiped away as fast as it had come.
He nodded solemnly. “I hope she does too.” He extended his hand. “Wyatt.”
“Graysen,” I replied, latching my hand around his.
He grinned broadly, and dimples flashed in his cheeks. His handshake was solid and firm, and he held mine a beat too long, just as his gaze did.
Who the hells am I to him?
My focus narrowed to my hand.
It reminded me of the first time I met Nelle as a kid. A ghostly whisper across the distance had drawn my gaze to hers. The faintest trace of power hummed and skated over my flesh, tickling my fingers. Other. But what kind of other, I wasn’t sure. I squinted at the other man. “Have we met before?”
He shook his head as he disengaged his hand from mine, tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans. “I don’t think so.”
I couldn’t taste a lie or a truth from him.
He could be, much like Nelle, hiding the lie behind a truth.
Yet, he looked too young to have known my mother.
He would have been maybe eight years of age at the time of her disappearance, judging by how young he looked.
Maybe we’d met when we were children when I’d come down here with Mom.
“It was good to meet you,” he said, his voice strangely thick.
Right as his name stroked the back of my mind, Nelle’s despair free-fell into black desolation. I needed to get the fuck home now, fast.
“Yeah, likewise,” I returned, distracted. I hooked my thumb over my shoulder. “I’ve got to go.” I’d already stayed longer than I should have. “Enjoy your time here,” I said before turning away and heading back to the convoy.
The small, flat stones rattled in my pocket as I strode quickly to the parking lot, the bodyguards falling in behind me.
The driver opened the door to the limousine, and I slid inside, arranging myself on the backseat, noting that Wyatt was heading to a bike parked nearby.
He gave our convoy a curious glance before putting on a helmet and swinging a leg over his motorcycle. A rare Vincent Black Shadow.
Who the hells was he?
The privacy screen slid down. “Home?” the driver asked.
My mind swiftly shifted gears back to Nelle.
“As fast as you can go.”
I watched my driver’s reflection in the rearview mirror as he nodded and replied, “Will do.”
The limousine rolled back, and we headed forward, traveling behind the SUVs, turning back onto the road, picking up speed.
I tapped my fingers on my tense thigh, trying to appear calm, which was fucking impossible.
I’d known there would be two reactions to what Nelle might encounter today, and I’d hoped for that fiery rage that could tear the world apart to burn beneath my skin.
But this wasn’t it. She’d shattered completely.
Wretched emptiness hollowed out my chest, the chilling sensation much like the coldest part of night—a bleak winter’s snap of dawn.
This time I feared Nelle had truly broken.