Divide (14 page)

“No. Unfortunately, the curse will just follow someone else in my family. A sibling, or a distant cousin, it doesn’t matter.”

“What if you all kill yourselves?”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “That’s morbid.”

She shrugged. “It’s a legit question. If you’re all dead, who’s going to have the next heir? Nobody.”

“I’m not sure that would work, Holland, and you’d be hard pressed to convince Ro to kill herself. So, since mass suicide isn’t a viable option—” she pursed her lips and looked away abashedly, “—we continue teaching the story from generation to generation, keeping the knowledge alive. One day, a man in my family will be strong enough to break the curse.”

“And you think that’s going to be you?”

“Yes.”

“You sound very sure.”

“I am.”

Holland held my gaze for longer than she had since her skin changed color, and I wanted to go to her, wanted to pull her into my arms and show her just how sure I was. Then she turned away again, and the moment vanished.

“So, how did your father know it would be you? I mean, pulling you out of school, moving you to the mountains, how was he so sure you needed to be trained? Maybe it’s your cousin Steve in Omaha—” she waved her hands around in the air, “—maybe it’s some cousin in Africa that I’m never even going to meet, right? I mean, how can you be sure?”

“There is no cousin Steve in Omaha, or a cousin in Africa.”

“Come on now, I was making those up. You get what I’m saying.”

“I do. And what I’m saying is that not only do Steve and the cousin in Africa not exist, but there are no male cousins at all in this generation.”

“Wait. What?”

“All girls, except for me.”

“Oh. Well that’s easy, I guess.”

“It usually is. And my dad was good at researching things.
Especially
our family line. Somewhere in this mess of information, is the most detailed family tree—in the form of an
insanely
large book—that you’ve ever imagined.”

“But, really? Not
one
single male in your generation?”

“I know it seems strange, but that’s part of why my dad was so driven, so intense with my training. Why I’m so driven.”

“Because you’re my only hope.”

“Yes.”

“And you cared about saving me before you even knew me.”

“Absolutely.”

“Why?”

“Because I felt it. I felt
you
. This is my story, too, Holland, my history. I guess I just never knew anything different. Never wanted to know anything different.”

“What if you hated me when we met?”

I shook my head. “Holland. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t do this? If I
didn’t
try to save you?”

Holland bit her lip, her eyes squinting slightly as she pondered my question.

“Okay, so where does this leave us?” she asked after a few long seconds.

My phone vibrated on the desk, and we both watched it without moving. I knew the sound probably indicated another text from Ro. I hadn’t gotten back to her yet. I picked up my cell and read Ro’s panicked text message.

Where are you!? Where’s Holland!? Cam’s freaking out!

I quickly tapped a response, telling her I’d had to take Holland away for the weekend because the change happened way before schedule. I knew she’d flip out over that information, so I told her we’d talk later.

What about Cam!?

I tapped out another quick response:
Handle it.

I hoped she could at least buy us a couple days. Holland’s overprotective brother wasn’t something I’d planned for. Of course, I also hadn’t planned for the schedule to be all out of whack.

“So.” Holland brought her gaze to mine. “I’m going to be a statue.”

“A gargoyle, to be precise.”

“A
gargoyle
! Are you serious? Like, an ugly monster-looking thing that sits on top of old scary houses, covered in crow poop?”

She brought her hands up to her chest, mimicking the short arms of a gargoyle, I presumed, but resembling a deformed Tyrannosaurus Rex, and watched me with wide gray eyes, peering through gray lashes. A new line had begun forming from the outside corner of her left eye. There would be more of them, I knew, and they would start appearing with more and more frequency, but still…the ever-growing proof that the change was in full force within her made my chest constrict. She probably couldn’t feel them yet, the lines, but when she did, it wouldn’t be comfortable.

“Yes, a gargoyle. But definitely not like you’re picturing,
at all
. And anyway, I’m not going to let that happen, okay?”

“Okay. So, now what? Where are all these statues of me? Or, my…um…previous lives? Previous…selves? Can I see them?”

“Various places. The last one is somewhere outside of Detroit.”

“
Detroit?
Not on the grounds of a villa in France or something fairytale-ish?”

“Do
you
live somewhere fairytale-ish, Holland?”

“Oh. Well, no, I guess I don’t. But I just thought—”

“You had a different picture in your head, I get it. But no. There haven’t been any reincarnations outside of the U.S. in a very long time. Many generations.”

“I don’t have any family in Detroit,” Holland added quietly.

“No, I suppose you don’t anymore.”

“Oh.” She looked down, her eyebrows scrunching up on her forehead as she considered my words. After a few beats, she brought her gaze back to mine again. “So, what now?”

“Now we get comfortable. Now we wait.”

“Wait? That’s it?” She opened her arms and regarded herself as if I was too dense to remember she was gray from head to toe.

“I’m not saying we’re going to go hit up the local sports bars, but yeah, we might as well make the best of these next few days stuck inside this cabin, and you might as well try to read as much as you can so you know what to expect.” I waved my hand over everything on the desk and the surrounding piles of paperwork on the floor. “You’re welcome to read anything you want, and if you have any questions, I’m your guy. There’s really no time to waste.”

“Well, I’d originally come down to say thanks for dinner, so I guess I’ll head back up to bed now if that’s okay with you. I have a lot to think about.”

I looked at the clock again; it was a little after nine.

“We could watch a movie up there if you want?”

Her eyes widened slightly, and I quickly changed my suggestion. “Or we could watch a movie down here, on the couch. Not up there. Not in bed together if that’s not what you want.”

I slammed my mouth shut to stop myself from making either one of us feel any more awkward. Clearly a lady-killer.

“A movie sounds okay. Down here. On the couch. With no touching.” She smiled at me, shyly, biting her bottom lip, then bringing her gaze to the floor. I smiled back; glad she wasn’t completely appalled by my awkward words a moment ago.

“Cool. Out by the television there’s a cabinet with a bunch of movies. Pick one you want to watch, and I’ll be out in a minute.”

After Holland left the room, I tried giving some order to the madness that was my desk, but there was no use. Too many years of chaotic research and collecting information, and not enough places to store it, made for an overflowing, over-crowded office space. Add to that an irate girl who’d demolished any sort of order I’d established, and the office was a lost cause.

I stood, noticing as I did so the corner of a black and white photograph poking out beneath one of the books on the opposite side of the desk from where Holland had perched. I didn’t recall having any black and white prints down here—most of our family heirloom photos were protected in a special preservation box in the attic.

I’d been in this room consistently and found it surprising that I could stumble upon anything in this house, but especially in here, even remotely unfamiliar.

I leaned over the desk and lifted the book, revealing the faded picture underneath. I swallowed the lump in my throat, then took a deep breath. As I held the photograph between thumb and forefinger, the paper quivered.

My hands were shaking.
What the hell?
I quickly flipped the picture over in my hands, checking to see if there was a date, or anything else that would indicate where the photo was taken, or who’d taken it. Nothing.

As I turned it back to the front and my gaze fell upon the statue, foreboding crept up my spine like icy fingers dancing over my skin.

It wasn’t a photograph at all.

It wasn’t the most recent statue outside of Detroit, or the one before it in a small village outside of what is now New Hartford, Connecticut.

It was a digital rendering of
this
Holland.
My
Holland. Outside of
this
cabin.

Who would have created this? I stared into the image as if waiting for the answer to reveal itself. It had to have been Ro, though I couldn’t imagine why. Maybe she’d thought this would be incentive? Something to drive me to fight harder to save Holland?

It didn’t make sense, but no other explanation existed.

I tucked the disturbing image into one of my Encyclopedias. The vision of Holland in stone would forever haunt me, and I didn’t want to see it again. The proof of what Holland would soon become—should I fail her—was forever burned into my brain.

I couldn’t fail. She would not be reduced to a worn photograph of a statue depicting a once beautiful girl, forever frozen in time.

I would not fail.

Holland

Mick remained in his office on the phone while I searched through his movie collection. Surprisingly, he owned a pretty equal assortment of chick flicks and shoot-em-up movies, but I settled on
Con Air
. I giggled quietly as I inserted the disc into the player, but paused as Mick’s voice rose down the hall.

“No, I don’t think it makes sense, Ro, I just…”

I tilted my head as his words dropped off.

“I don’t know who made it! That’s why I’m asking you!”

I quietly crept down the hall toward Mick’s office.

“No, no, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to raise my voice at you. Yes, she’s here. We’re fine. I’ll figure this out. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

I leaned on the wall just outside the room and listened.

“He said what? Shit…Well, you can’t let him…No. I don’t care if he’s pissed! He can’t come here. I asked you to handle it, Ro.”

He, who?

Mick’s footsteps against the hardwood flooring made me freeze as he stepped toward the doorway; my breath caught in my lungs. I quickly scanned the hallway and debated fleeing, but didn’t think I could make it back to the living room without him noticing.

I closed my eyes and pressed myself against the wall, trying to blend into the shadows.

When I opened my eyes again, Mick stood just a few inches in front of me, a wicked smile on his face, his breath tickling the flesh of my cheeks.

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop, you know.”

The rugged outline of his features was clear, even in the darkness of the hallway. He licked his straight, full lips. My pulse sped. I held my breath. His eyelashes were longer than I realized, the light from the open office door casting shadows of them onto his cheeks. The whites of his eyes were bright, even in the barely lit hall, his gaze full of mischief. He leaned further toward me. I sucked in a ragged breath.

I was in trouble if I didn’t get out of there fast.

“It’s—” I cleared my throat, “—it’s not eavesdropping if you’re yelling loud enough for the whole world to hear you.” I urged my feet to carry me away, but somehow remained trapped beneath Mick’s gaze.

He smiled and cocked his head to the side, then leaned in toward me another inch or two, his right forearm pressed against the wall next to my head. His hand rested on the wall near my hair, and I was suddenly acutely aware of just how many inches it would take for him to close the distance between us completely and press his body against mine.

Three.

It would take
three
tiny inches.

He licked his lips once more, and my mind flashed back to the incredible kiss in the movie theater. The way his lips had moved with mine…

He brought his other hand up to my face, and as his fingertips grazed my cheek, I panicked. He was about to kiss me again!

I couldn’t let that happen. No. Especially not if he’d been
preparing
to be with me his whole life. I wasn’t about to be this guy’s project.

I slipped down the wall and backed away from him as quickly as I could. “You’re going to miss the movie.”

He sighed as I walked away, and my heart pounded in my throat. I almost walked into the banister.

The worst part? I’d actually
wanted
him to kiss me.

I’d nearly ignored the fact I was now gray from head to toe. I’d nearly ignored the fact that I wasn’t dating material long before the skin deformity, and, more importantly, I’d nearly ignored the fact that Mick was only into me because he’d been
trained
to be.

I needed to get away from him and fast.

A little while later, with both of us settled into opposite sides of the couch, complete with bowls of popcorn propped in our laps, Mick started the movie.

“Ha.
Con Air
? Seriously?”

“Humor me.”

“It’s a classic, you know. I don’t think you’re going to convince me with this.”

“We’ll see. Just watch the movie.”

“I don’t think this is a good example. You should have picked something like Wicker Man or that ghost motorcycle in flames one…”

My pulse began to race as my chest tightened, that increasingly familiar feeling of losing control seizing me once more.
What the hell?
I took a deep breath, trying to slow my pounding heart. I closed my eyes and silently counted to ten.

“…anyway, I guess we’ll have to wait and see, but I’m telling you—”

“Mick! Shut up and watch the damn movie, alright?”

I slapped my hand across my mouth the second the words were out. Mick remained calm, not in the least bit surprised at my outburst which made shame blossom within me.

The embarrassment fueled the anger, my heart speeding up, and my chest heaving irregularly with each breath I inhaled as I tried to calm myself down.
What’s wrong with me?
Every muscle in my body tightened and released, tightened and released, as though I involuntarily flexed for a fight. I dropped my arm into my lap and watched as both hands curled into fists against my will. As if someone else—or
something
else—moved my limbs without my consent.

I flexed my fingers, ready to punch something, anything, if only to just release the tension in my hands. I searched the room for something to hit—

What the . . .? Something to
hit
?

What the hell is wrong with me?

“What’s wrong with me, Mick?” My voice, barely audible, slipped through clenched teeth as the muscles in my face constricted.

Mick’s eyebrows lifted slightly, his eyes slowly widening. He put his hands out in front of him, palms facing me, and spoke softly. “Okay, Holland, breathe with me. You’re going to be fine. In and out. In and out. Deep breath in…deep breath out…”

He reached a hand out to touch my leg and I jumped off the couch, crouching a few feet away from him, my hands clenched into fists extended in front of me.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Okay, okay, I won’t. Just focus on your breathing, Holland. Focus on
my
breathing.”

As silly as we must have looked, me standing with my knees slightly bent, my arms extended in a fighter’s stance, as if ready to defend myself at any minute, and Mick on the couch with his palms up in surrender, I tried to absorb his words. He’d told me to focus on his breathing.

I stared at his rising chest, concentrating on the unbuttoned opening of his Henley shirt as he inhaled each deep breath. I did my best to mimic the movements with my own breathing.

After what felt like hours, my muscles gradually relaxed, and my heart rate slowed to a normal pace.

With my strength sufficiently seeped out of me, my body drained completely after the few long minutes of being tense like never before, I barely rallied the energy to make it back to the couch, just a yard or so away from where I still crouched. I slumped on the far end, sinking into the cushions and looking over at Mick with bleary eyes.

“What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you, Holland. That wasn’t you. But that’s what I was talking about—the part of the change we need to worry about and focus on.”

He scooted closer to me, slowly, with his hands still upturned as if to show me he didn’t want to hurt or corner me. He regarded me as though I were a wild animal. Or a completely crazy person.

Which I guess I was now…a little of both.

But he shouldn’t have been scared—I could barely move, let alone attack him. Whatever had just happened sucked out every bit of life from my bones. I wanted nothing more than to melt into the couch and close my eyes for months.

“What did you feel?”

When he spoke, I realized my eyes were closed. Opening them, I found his gaze, trying to gauge how crazy he thought I was. All I saw was compassion. He sat right next to me, gently snaking his arm around my shoulders. I allowed him to pull me into his chest, unable and unwilling to push him away. He covered us both with the blanket. “What did you feel? It’s okay to tell me. I need to know how far you are into the change.”

“I felt…angry. But not just angry, I felt insane. Like I was going to explode if I didn’t rip you apart.”

I cringed as the words left my mouth. What a thing to say to someone.

“But you didn’t rip me apart. You kept yourself under control, and we’re both fine now. What was it that helped you come back from that place?”

You.

“I focused on your breathing.”

“Good. We need to remember everything that works for you. It will get worse though, Holland. Next time will be worse.”

I closed my eyes and concentrated on his breathing again, though, this time, I wasn’t watching his chest rise and fall but rocking with the movement beneath my cheek. His heartbeat thumped softly in my ear. Mick’s tenderness, combined with the sound of his steady pulse, was soothing—much more so than I wanted to admit.

It was exactly what I needed. His closeness.

His protection.

Him.