How I Found You (19 page)

“Can’t we just try—”

“Forget I said anything,” he cut me off. “It’s not safe. It’s…” He shook his head. “Forget I said anything.”

Yeah, right
, I thought, folding my arms across my chest.

“Do you really need to know?” he asked wearily. “Can’t you just accept that you are who you are?”

No
, I thought.

Oscar stood up and walked over to the window. “It’s really raining,” he stated.

Not-so-subtle subject change. 

“Yes,” I grumbled. “I’ve noticed.”

“How about a walk?” he suggested.

I looked up at him and frowned. “Now? Out there?”

He flashed me a charming smile. “Sure. Why not?”

I laughed. “You’re crazy.”

“Maybe,” Oscar smirked. “Are you?”

He crossed the room and ducked out through the side door.

For a moment, I contemplated leaving him to it, letting him be crazy all on his own. But my hesitation was short lived. I hopped to my feet and set off after him. I ran out into the rain, cringing as the cold drops splashed onto my skin. I covered my head with my hands, but the downpour drenched my hair and streamed over my face.

“Oscar!” I cried. “We’re getting soaked!”

“I know,” he exclaimed. “Isn’t it exhilarating?” He stretched out his arms and turned his face up to the sky, like a fallen angel spreading its wings.

I shrieked as the water washed over me. In a way, it was exhilarating. Or liberating, at least. I had no inhibitions or reservations—I was simply
there
. Out in the epitome of wild nature with Oscar, freeing our untamed souls and allowing them to play together. It was the truest form of happiness.

I extended my arms, just as Oscar had done, and twirled around until I felt dizzy. When I stopped, I collapsed onto the soggy ground and sank into the mud without a care in the world.

Oscar jogged over to me. He crouched before me, his shirt soaked through and clinging to his skin.

“I got you a present,” he said, biting his lip to suppress a grin.

I sat up. “You did?”

Oscar held up his index finger, signalling for me to wait. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, cream-coloured box.

“It’s just something,” he said, sliding the box into my hand. “I liked it. I don’t know… You might not.”

I opened the lid. Inside were two halves of a silver heart, nestled amidst a bed of red silk.

“It’s beautiful,” I breathed. I lifted one of the pieces and held it as though it were the most precious object I’d ever touched.

“There was supposed to be a chain with it… It was supposed to be a necklace…”

I shook my head, water spilling from my hair. “It’s perfect just the way it is.”

Oscar’s mouth curved into a smile. “You like it?”

“I love it.” I examined the piece in my hand. “This is my half,” I decided, holding it up to the murky sky.

He nodded.

I passed it to him. “You keep my half.”

He gestured to the remaining piece in the box. “And you keep mine.”    

I reached up and pulled him down to the muddy ground, and we lay, giggling like children… until the shadows of two tall figures darkened our light.

The Valeros were here.

“Oscar,” Marco snapped. He towered above us, intimidating and dominant.

We sat upright, startled by the intrusion on our private moment.

Marco gripped the handle of a striped umbrella, while Caicus loitered on the outskirts of its shelter, kicking light-heartedly at the pooling rainwater.

Where my focus rested on Marco, Oscar’s immediately went to Caicus. He grinned and splashed water at his friend, and the game rapidly escalated until they were on the verge of an all-out water fight.

Marco swiftly put his foot down.

“Oscar,” he barked. “Caicus and I have reached a decision on how best to remove the humans.”

“Remove the humans?” I echoed, squinting through the misted rain.

Marco peered down his nose at me. “Get them out of the house,” he elaborated.

Oh.

Marco went on, “Caicus will persuade them to stay at a hotel for the evening, on the pretence of permitting us to throw a birthday party for Rose.”

“They’ll never agree to that,” I objected.

But, of course, I’d forgotten who I was dealing with.

“They’ll agree to anything Caicus asks of them,” Marco retorted condescendingly.

Oscar licked his lips. “That seems satisfactory.”

“Then we are agreed,” Marco solicited.

Oscar nodded his head.

“Caicus,” Marco said, disrupting his game of raindrop catching, “go now. Do your duty. Make sure they’re out of the house by nine o’clock this evening. The ritual will begin at precisely eleven.”

Caicus nodded once, then jogged away like an obedient puppy, and Marco stalked back to the house.

I looked anxiously at Oscar. “Ritual?”

He snaked his arm around me, but said nothing.

BY SEVEN O’CLOCK THAT EVENING
, I was showered and getting ready for my customary birthday meal. I rummaged through my limited clothing options in the hope of finding something to wear.

It was no surprise to hear that Mary and Roger had approved the fake birthday party, and had compliantly agreed to stay at a hotel for the night. Not before my birthday meal, though.

I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. Time was slipping away right before my eyes.

A bolt of fear surged through me, and I reminded myself for what felt like the thousandth time that everything would be okay. Oscar wouldn’t allow anything to go wrong. I was safe with him.

Taking a deep breath, I resumed rummaging through the pile of clothes strewn over my bed. Yuck. I hated them all.

Back to the wardrobe. I riffled through the hangers.

No… No… No… Absolutely no.

Defeated, I dropped cross-legged onto the floor. And it was a good thing I did, because I caught sight of a pink shopping bag stuffed into the bottom corner of the wardrobe.

The dress! How could I have forgotten about
that
dress? Especially after making Oscar jump off a cliff to retrieve it.

I hauled the bag out from its hiding place and emptied the contents onto the carpet. The dress had gained some creases from its confinement, but it was still just as stunning as I remembered: a rich mulberry colour, delicate fabric, and a long flowing skirt.

I wasn’t entirely convinced that I had the confidence to wear it, but I was definitely in the mood for a dress rehearsal.

I wriggled into it and pulled up the zipper.

Okay. Mirror time.

It was probably fortunate that my mirror was the size of a melon, because as a self-confessed non-dress wearer I didn’t think I was ready for the full-length view. That said, my cantaloupe-sized view was kind of pleasing.

I crouched, and knelt, and stood on tiptoes until I saw more-or-less the whole outfit.

I flipped my hair and let it tumble over my shoulders. Then, I paraded around my tiny bedroom, strutting my stuff down the world’s best imaginary catwalk.

I had all the confidence and coolness known to mankind.

And then someone knocked on my bedroom door.

No longer cool, I virtually pole vaulted over my bed and dived for my discarded bath towel.               Scrambling around like a frantic maniac, I shrouded myself in the towel.

“Are you all right in there?” Oscar called from the other side of the door.

I guess my belly-flop landing had caused quite a thud.

“I’m fine,” I shouted back, hastily clambering to my feet and patting down my dishevelled tresses. “Everything’s fine!”

“Can I come in?” his muffled voice returned to me.

I sat on the end of my bed and tugged the towel down until it covered as much of the dress as possible.

“Okay,” I beckoned.

The door opened and Oscar poked his head in. He greeted me with a familiar boyish grin. “Nice towel.”

“What?” I said, feeling my cheeks flush. “I can wear a towel if I want.” I tugged at it again and flattened it over my knees.

Oscar’s eyebrow cocked. “Yes, I would never suggest otherwise. I think it’s a very nice towel.”

“It is,” I said, sounding more petulant than I would have liked.

“Uh… right,” he stammered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” He paused and his brow furrowed. “Are you mad at me?”

I sighed submissively. “No. I’m wearing a dress,” I confessed.

“Yes. I can see that. It’s very stylish. Unique.”

“No, not the towel. The dress is underneath.”

“Oh. Okay. Can I see?” He edged further into the room, letting the door fall shut behind him.

I fiddled with a thread on the towel. “I’m not sure yet. I’m feeling a little self-conscious.”

“But… it’s me.”

Exactly!
I thought.

“Why would you feel self-conscious around me?” he asked, clearly mystified by the notion.

“Because you’re so confident and gorgeous.” I laughed in good nature. “And I’m just the girl in the bath towel.”

Oscar suppressed a grin. “You’re not the girl in the bath towel; you’re Rose. And I’m Oscar.” He sat down beside me on the bed. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re confident and gorgeous, and so much more.”

I leant my head on his shoulder. In response he draped his arm around me.

“Do you not like the dress?” he asked.

“No. The opposite. It’s the dress my aunt bought me in Hutton Ridge. You know,
the
dress.”

“Oh,
that
dress! Well, then, you
have
to wear it,” he declared animatedly.

I gazed up at him.

“Show me, show me,” he teased, tugging at the edge of the towel.

“If I show you, will you promise not to laugh?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Just promise,” I repeated.

He crossed his heart with his forefinger.

I stood up and tossed the towel onto the bed.

No laughter. That was a good sign.

“What do you think?” I ventured timidly.

He let out a long breath. “It’s…”

“What?” I could feel the colour rushing to my cheeks again.

“Beautiful,” he finished. “Really, really beautiful.” He smiled unassumingly.

“Thank you.”

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

Now my face was a blazing inferno. But I kept smiling.

“The meal,” I blurted out, promptly redirecting the attention. “We should go. The others will be wondering where we are.”

“Right,” said Oscar, blinking. “Right. The meal.” He stood up. “Let me escort you.” He held out his hand in what I considered to be a chivalrous gesture.

I quickly threw on a pair of black ballerina flats and took his hand.

As I closed the door to my bedroom, I had a sinking feeling that I wouldn’t be opening it again.

Here we go.

Dark Secrets

MARY SWITCHED OFF THE DINING
room lights and struck a match, igniting the candles on top of the birthday cake. When seventeen tiny flames flickered to life, she brought the cake to the dining table and set it down in front of me.

“Happy Birthday to you…” she sang.

“Happy Birthday to you…” Roger joined in and they had themselves a little barbershop duet. 

Only the three Valeros abstained from the singalong. They looked between one another as though it were the most absurd tradition they had ever witnessed. Singing! Whatever next?

My aunt and uncle finished the final note and then erupted into a round of applause.

“Make a wish!” Mary cheered, nudging the cake closer to me.

I instinctively recoiled from the festive, amber flames. Even dancing above a bed of white icing, they still seemed threatening. I glanced at Oscar. In his eyes the pyramids of fire returned to me—reflecting off the irises, yes, but also imprisoned inside. Tiny blazing bonfires trapped beneath the surface.

I turned back to the cake and let out a huge puff of air. I wished for everything that I might never have again—in other words, everything that I had right then.

The flames were extinguished in one breath, and the room plunged into utter darkness. In cliché horror-movie fashion, a loud eruption of thunder rumbled outside. I guessed it was voicing its disapproval of the nature of my wish.

“Ooh, spooky,” Mary chortled, simulating a series of ghostly moans.

The faint aroma of candle smoke wafted to my nose. Opposite me, Roger’s chair scraped the floor as he stood up to switch the lights back on.

I heard the click of the switch, followed by Roger’s disgruntled voice. “The power’s out.”

“Oh, you’re not serious?” Mary wailed.

The switch clicked again.

“I’m afraid so,” Roger confirmed.

In one beat, the darkness had gone from spooky fun to chilling defencelessness.

“What about the party?” Mary gasped. “What time are the guests arriving?”

The boys were silent.

“Don’t worry,” Marco pacified them in a creamy voice. “This will not be a problem.”

“Does anyone have a torch?” Caicus asked.

Roger fumbled clumsily around the dining room. “Somewhere around here…” he muttered, rummaging through drawers and cabinets.

“Darling,” Mary called to her husband, “I don’t think we should leave the kids tonight. Not during a power cut.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Roger agreed. “We won’t leave tonight.”

I figured that wouldn’t go down well with the Valeros. And I was right. I didn’t know if it was possible to literally feel tension, but right then, it was so glaring that it made the hairs on my arms stand on end.

“No, you must go,” Caicus intervened. “It’ll be fine.”

“No, I don’t think so, dear,” Mary let him down gently. “Not tonight.”

Huh? I’d never known Mary to decline Caicus before. And then it occurred to me.

Of course! Caicus’s power source lies in his eyes. In the dark, he’s pretty much redundant.

I heard him swear under his breath. “Have you found that torch yet, Roger?” he persisted.

“I can’t think where I would have put it…” Roger mumbled to himself.

“Not to worry, Rose,” Mary continued, as though she suspected I’d need to be placated. “Roger and I will keep out of the way tonight. We’ll stay upstairs.”

Caicus huffed in irritation. I heard him stand up and march across the room. A moment later he struck a match and held it at nose level.

“Mary,” he said, obdurately, “you must stay at the hotel this evening.” His eyes were so bright that they eclipsed the match’s flame.

I squinted to see her reaction, but she was lost in an abyss of darkness.

“Yes, dear,” she murmured back.

“Thank you,” Caicus beamed. His smile was wicked, hauntingly enhanced by the eerie match light. “Roger, are you in accord?”

“Uh. Yes.”

The match burnt down to Caicus’s fingers. He carelessly dropped it to the floor and stomped out the dwindling flame.

Throwing fire on the floor! Is he
trying
to give me a heart-attack?

“Got the torch!” Roger suddenly announced.

A yellow spotlight hit the table and travelled along the surface until it landed on the cake.

We weren’t the sort of family that let a power cut stop us from eating cake, so it was more-or-less a given that the meal would go on, albeit messily.

Mary groped for the china plates and I lifted the kitchen knife. It was heavy and cold to the touch. Guided by the light of the torch, I plunged the knife into the cake. But when I happened to glimpse down, I saw two crow-like eyes reflecting off the silver blade.

I gasped and let go of the knife. It clattered onto the table and slid off the edge, heading tip-first for my leg.

With miraculously sharp reflexes, Oscar stretched out his arm and caught the knife before it hit me.

A bated hush fell over the dining room.

And then came Mary’s fretful voice, “Are you hurt, Rose?”

I stared at the glinting blade in Oscar’s hand. “No. I’m okay.”

Brazenly, Oscar flipped the knife and caught it by the handle. “I’ll do the honours.”

“Oscar, you seem so very at ease with a knife in your hand,” Marco joked inappropriately.

Oscar laughed it off. “You’d be wise to remember that, Marco.” He sliced the cake into several pieces, at a speed that would be gawped at by even the most experienced of dicers. And I could guarantee, if I’d taken out a ruler, every piece would have been meticulously equal.

Oscar shared out the slices and we ate in silence. It felt very much like the final meal of condemned men. And I supposed that was exactly what it was.

After we’d finished, Mary stood up and patted her mouth with a napkin. “There we are, then,” she said. “A lovely birthday meal. Roger, did you bring the overnight bag downstairs?”

“Yes, it’s in the hallway.”

“Wonderful. I’ll get Zack ready and we’ll set off.” She took the torch from Roger and shuffled out into the hallway.

We were reduced to blindness until she returned.

“Shall we?” she gestured to my uncle, shining the torch on us.

He heaved himself up and followed Mary into the hallway. I went with him. I didn’t want them to leave without saying a proper goodbye to them. To my surprise, Caicus came, too. Probably to give them that final push out the door.

Standing in the porch, I hugged Mary and Roger. Baby Zack was snuggled in his carry cot, almost swallowed beneath a heap of blankets. I kissed him on the cheek. When I stepped away, I noticed Caicus was huddled to my aunt and uncle, bidding his farewell with sincere affection. And I realised that maybe Caicus and I had something in common after all. We both loved Mary and Roger.

“Mary,” Caicus said quietly, “I want to thank you for your kindness. You’ve been superb company these past few weeks, and…” he hesitated, “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you’re an excellent mother.” When his eyes weren’t so icy white, they were a tranquil shade of ocean blue.

Mary was visibly choked by the sentiment. “Caicus, it has been an absolute pleasure having you here, and you are welcome to stay for as long as you choose.”

He smiled sadly.

“Rose, dear,” she said to me, “enjoy yourself tonight. Make sure it’s the night of your life.”

Roger handed me the torch and I lit the path to his Volvo. Rain poured down like a waterfall in the spot of light. The little family rushed to the car and bundled in.

Caicus and I remained in the open doorway until the car disappeared out of sight. We hovered a little while longer, not really knowing what to say to each other, but sort of feeling as though we should say something.

“You were fond of Mary,” I said.

“Yes,” he agreed, wistfully. “And I liked who I was when I was with her.”

“Who were you?” I asked.

He smiled sadly. “Whoever I wanted to be.”

Perhaps that comment threw me, because I was totally caught off guard when Marco appeared behind us.

Noiseless footsteps and unlit corridors are a bad combination
, I thought
. Well, unless you’re the one with the noiseless footsteps.

“The ritual will take place in the dining room,” he asserted sharply. “I will prepare the brew.”

“What’s the brew?” I asked.

They ignored me and stalked away.

I closed the front door. My hand lingered on the handle for a little longer than necessary.

Right, this was my chance, I realised. If I was going to run, now was the time to do it.

I pondered it. My family was safe, out of the house. I was alone. I could do it. I
wanted
to do it. So why wasn’t I doing it?

I guessed it was the same reason that had stopped me from running any of the other times. With all the frightening things I’d discovered over the past few days, I should have run, but didn’t. And it all boiled down to this: I was in over my head with Oscar Valero. And I would never run. Never.

Then I felt a breath on the back of my neck.

“Oscar,” I whispered.

“Go,” he whispered back.

I spun around. “No. I’m not going anywhere.”

He was close to me. Closer than I had anticipated. I relished the sensation of it, listening to the rasps in his breathing and feeling the rise and fall of his chest against mine.

“Go,” he urged again. “Remember your visions. Remember what Oliver told you.”

“He told me to go back,” I recounted slowly.

“Yes. To run.”

“No,” I shook my head, “he didn’t tell me to run. He told me to go back.” It was as though I was suddenly able to see things from a different perspective. “To go back… to the start.”

Oscar kicked at the floor. “He was telling you to
run
. Just like I am.”

“No,” I was resolute on this, “he was trying to help me. He wanted me to go back.” I paused. “The spell.”

“The Retracing spell?” said Oscar huskily. “I’ve already told you, I can’t do that.”

“But what if it holds a clue to defeating Lathiaus? If I could go back to my origins, I might be able to understand why I’m connected to him.”

Oscar groaned. “What does it matter? It won’t change anything.”

“Can I at least see the spell?” I pleaded.

Oscar glanced to the staircase, twitching with nerves. “It’s in the book.”

I envisioned a giant phone book, an A to Z of spells. How very handy for the modern-day witch.

“Do you have the book here with you?” I pressed.

“Upstairs.”

“So…? Can I see it?”

Oscar’s eyes darted anxiously around the dim corridor. “No one is allowed to see the book. It’s sacred to Valero witches.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s an unreasonable rule.”

He smiled roguishly. “All rules are unreasonable.”

“Please?” 

He grumbled unintelligibly. Nevertheless, he caught my hand and towed me swiftly up the staircase.

We snuck into his bedroom and closed the door with a click. It was pitch black, apart from the circular torch light. Oscar ushered me to the space on the floor between the two beds. He reached under one of the beds and hauled out a hefty trunk. I slanted the light while he fiddled with the combination lock, and then rummaged inside for his oh-so-precious book.

When he eventually raised it from the trunk, even I had to admit that I was reverently surprised. It was, without doubt, the most extraordinary book I’d ever seen. The leather-bound cover was engraved in gold with intricate patterns. And, judging by the texture of the aged pages, it had been around for centuries. I gazed at it, awestruck.

Midway through the tome, a piece of string bookmarked a page. But Oscar disregarded it and opened towards the front. He began hurriedly flipping through the pages.