The Steward (12 page)

Out of the thousands of bubbles on the surface of the water, I watched a few randomly pop and disappear. It occurred to me that humans must be like all those bubbles to the Fae. We’re all over the place. There are so many of us that only a few on the surface ever get noticed, but before the Fae can learn much about any one of us, we disappear.

Running my fingers through the iridescent suds, my consciousness drifted back to another part of my conversation with Sara. I had asked whether she’d be my guide, like she had been for Aunt May. It surprised me when she said no. She was Aunt May’s guide, and would be here to help me through the trials, but soon I’d get my own. That’s when it occurred to me.

“Sherman and Victoria—are they Fae too?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“And what about…”

“Yes, Gavin is Fae as well.” She studied my face and, undoubtedly, the images racing through my mind.

It made sense on so many levels. It explained why he was so incredibly perfect. What I saw wasn’t really him—it was simply the form he created for human consumption. I wasn’t angry, though. I had to admit, I’d be a goddess if I could pick my own form. The immortal Fae—it explained why he seemed so much more mature than other guys his age. Quite literally, he was. I remembered his answer last week at Candace’s house when I asked him how old he really was—since none of us believed anyone could look like him at sixteen. He looked at me with a devilish grin on his face. I could still hear his baritone voice in my head. He said, “I am one hundred forty-seven thousand three hundred seventeen years old.” I thought he was just being a smart-ass.

Thinking about the two of us, I realized why he had been so aloof at times, how he could so deftly sidestep my infatuation with him. Every time I’d attempted to flirt with him, he acted as though he didn’t understand what I was doing. He pulled away just far enough to dash my hopes, but not so far as to actually distance himself. I thought Gavin mastered brush-offs to the level of art, but for all I knew he could have invented them.

I slid down a little further under the water so that only my head, from the lips up, remained above the surface. Just thinking about how absurd it was to be so completely enamored with Gavin, I laughed through the bubbles, rousing Justice enough that he raised his head.

I really should be grossed out by the age thing.
Twenty had seemed old to me this morning, but somehow one hundred forty-seven thousand and some change didn’t seem to bother me as much.

The instant I learned Gavin was Fae, I realized that not only was he out of my league, but I’d most likely never mean anything to him. “He’s immortal and beautiful. I’m Maggie O’Shea, an unwilling refugee from sunny Florida.”

I let the image of his perfect smile wash over my doubting brain, and I slid under the bubbles.

SIX

TRUCE

When I awoke this morning, forcing one eye open, I noticed the sky had cleared to a brilliant blue. “It’s sunny,” I muttered to myself. Lifting my groggy head off the pillow, I looked out through the diamond panes of my window. The sun was just coming over the hill to the East, and for the first time, I noticed that some of the glass panes were transparent pastel colors. They formed large multicolored diamonds on the opposite wall. I watched them slowly crawl down the uneven plaster. Though I wanted to, I couldn’t sleep any longer because there was too much clamor in the cottage. The aromas of breakfast filled my sinuses, roused my stomach.

“Oh god, I’m hungry,” I groaned through a yawning stretch.

Bacon was a familiar smell. I loved that. I still wasn’t accustomed to all the other unfamiliar smells of the cottage. The house in Boca always smelled like floral air freshener. Maybe a little annoying, but it was a familiar smell I missed. Aunt May’s cottage had dozens of different scents–the rich, earthy smell of wood and stone, the sweet acidity of old books, and musk of fine leather were chief among the many.

Foreign odors or not, my new bedroom was twice as large as my old one in Florida—yes, after yesterday, it no longer felt like a holding cell. Thick, hand-hewn wood beams curved upward from carved brackets on the walls to support the wood plank cathedral ceiling that peaked twenty-some feet over my head. The king-size sleigh bed seemed enormous compared to my old bed. With thick white linens, crisp white curtains, and a pink and purple harlequin rug, my new room was pretty fantastic.

Still not ready for the day to begin, I nevertheless gave up and climbed out of bed, shuffling my way to the bathroom—my own bathroom with an amazing tub. According to Aunt May, my great, great, great Aunt Lola had the enormous copper bathtub installed more than ninety years ago. Embossed with scenes of woodland creatures all around the sides, over the years it had turned dark brown, the color of an old penny. It was like everything else in the cottage—patinaed and whimsical. The best part of the cottage, however, was that I didn’t have to share a bathroom with Mitch. Lifted seats, or worse, wet seats, were a thing of the past.

While brushing my teeth and combing the tangles out of my hair in the mirror, I recalled fear and panic in my eyes before the trek to the cave. Now they seemed brighter and happier. The deep worry lines in my forehead, fortunately, were gone. Still, I wasn’t planning to stay in Arkansas. I didn’t know what I was planning to do, but everything else felt a little easier to get through. Including what I had to do at breakfast—apologize to Mom and Dad for being so difficult lately.

At seven o’clock in the morning, I donned my slippers and muddled my way to the door across the wide-plank wood floor. With yesterday’s events still lingering in the back of my mind, I firmly pressed the thick lever of the antique bronze handle, and the heavy, round-top door gave way under my weight, slowly and silently swinging open.
Into the Weald.

Mitch, in his
Spiderman
pajamas, laid sprawled, sound asleep across Dad’s lap. They sat in one of the huge, burgundy leather armchairs that faced the fireplace in the keeping room with Justice curled up on the stone floor at their feet. Dad read a newspaper and appeared more relaxed than I’d seen him in months. Next to him, a big brown mug of coffee steamed away in the morning air. The heat from the fire felt good on my face, but I still felt a little chilled when I glanced outside and saw leaves blow across the yard. Beyond the massive windows on the back of the keeping room, the lake reflected the blue color of the sky. I hesitated, but admitted to myself that it looked beautiful today.

“Good Mornin’! Did ya sleep well last night? Not too cold up there, was it?” Aunt May asked when she noticed me wobble into the room.

“Slept fine, thanks.”

Aunt May seemed happier than I’d seen her since we arrived. We didn’t get a chance to talk
privately
last night. There was no need. A goofy look over her glasses, my quick nod, and she knew I’d passed the Earth trial. She’d worn her crooked smile ever since.
I’ve got to apologize to her, too.

The aroma of freshly baked homemade bread and hickory-smoked bacon filled the kitchen. I caught myself staring at the golden loaves on the white marble island, and clutched my grumbling stomach. The smells were driving me nuts. As I crossed the kitchen, I noticed how the sunlight changed the inside of the room—or maybe I only noticed it for the first time. The kitchen, with its soaring wood-beamed, chestnut-colored cathedral ceiling, was enormous. It was just part of one big space—the other part was the keeping room. On the east end, there were two tall, narrow diamond-paned windows, one above the other, deeply set in the wall above a large, copper apron sink. The windows faced the east, and the morning sun cast a beautiful array of pastel colors across the white marble countertops where Mom stood slicing the warm bread. She looked focused, like she was purposefully ignoring me.
I know, I deserve that.

After one mouthful of Aunt May’s tender, baked heaven, I temporarily forgot all about south Florida.
Okay, it’s time to be the good daughter. Suck it up.

I swallowed. “Good Morning, Mom … Dad.”

“Mornin’ Sweetheart,” Dad said, peaking over his newspaper for a second. The faint crow’s feet around his green eyes told me there was a dimply smile behind the sports section.

Mom, however, wasn’t as easy. Her left eyebrow arched more than her right as she replied, “Good Morning, Magdalena.”

Ouch. I hated my full name, and I hated when Mom used it. She only did so when she was peeved. I’d heard it a lot lately.

“Mom, Dad…”

“Yes…” they said in unison.

“I’m very sorry about being so…”

“Maudlin? Mawkish?” Mom finished my sentence, grinning.

“…For being such a jerk. I know you did what you had to do—you moved here for Mitch and me—and I’ve been difficult.”

Mom smiled broadly, set her coffee cup on the counter in a diamond of blue light, and embraced me. “Oh, piñata, I really hoped you’d come around.”

Aunt May didn’t bother to turn from the big copper stove. “David, can I get ya ta help me with somethin’ in the library? Bring Mitchell if ya would.” Dad followed her, carrying Mitch, sensing, like Aunt May did that Mom and I needed a moment.

“You really like it here don’t you?” I asked when they left.

“Oh, yes. I’ve always loved Eureka. Your father brought me here when we were first engaged. Honestly, it was so charming I wanted to stay, but his work took us back to Miami.”

“I thought you loved Florida?”

“I do … it’s home. But this place also felt like
home
the moment we got here. You have no idea how much I hope and pray you and your brother like it here.” A lock of black hair slipped across her smooth skin, and tangled momentarily in her thick eyelashes.

“I think he loves it already, and you know it’ll take him all of five minutes to become the most popular kid in school,” I said.

Mom smiled. “Yes, he’s so much like your father—neither one of them ever met a stranger. But what about you, honey? I’m worried about you—you’ve been so quiet since we arrived.”

“Oh, Mom, I know you’re worried, but I’m fine, really.” I said it with the most convincing voice I could conjure. I squeezed her hand and smiled as big as I could.

“My love, I know when you’re fine and I know when you’re martyring yourself,” she said with a raised eyebrow.

“Martyr? Oh my gosh, Mom, please tell me you don’t think I’m that pathetic.” I stared at the lake through the huge windows in the keeping room.

“I’m not saying that. I think you’re incredibly brave.” She paused and grabbed my other hand, forcing me to face her. “I just don’t want you to suffer silently. You’re way too much like your dad in that way.”

I knew she was right. My war had been one of silence. I learned from an early age you don’t win verbal wars with a Cuban mother.

“You hold things in, and bury your pain and anger until it boils over.” She stared at me. Her warm brown eyes locked on mine until I looked down at my feet. “You don’t need to do that, Maggie. Let it out, let’s talk about it.”

“Talking about it wouldn’t have changed your mind or Dad’s, would it?” I said quickly and too harshly. “I mean, since it wouldn’t have mattered anyway, why bother, right?”

“Oh honey, what you think does matter, and you know I care about your opinion. I raised you to have one and to speak it. In this case, though, we really had no choice.” Creases formed in the smooth skin around her eyes and the edges of her mouth turned down. I’d seen that pain in Florida, and I hated myself for making her think about it again. My parents were in financial ruin when we left. There really had been no other choice.

“Listen Mom, I know. I know you and Dad needed to move here, and I know that Aunt May needs us. And you know how much I love her and her crazy stories,” I said. We both chuckled. “But I’m just having a harder time than Mitch. I wanted to finish high school in Boca and hang out with my friends. I wanted to keep swimming … go to college there.” I paused and smiled at her. “That’s okay, though. I will make the best of it here … in the sticks. Maybe the woods will stop creeping me out eventually.” I grinned at her. “And I’ll even do my best not to end up barefoot and pregnant before I’m sixteen.”

She squeezed my arm playfully and cursed a little in Spanish, her accent a bit stronger than normal. “Well, that would be good, Piñata, because I don’t want to spend the next forty years in prison—and your brother would really miss you.”

We both laughed. I always got tickled when she called me “Piñata.” It was the sign that things between us were okay. Strong elegant jaw, high cheekbones and full lips—it struck me, once more, just how beautiful she was and how fortunate I was to look like her.

“Is the coast clear?” Dad asked from the dining room.

“Yes,” Mom said before kissing me on the forehead and going back to her coffee.

“Well, good. Since the two of you have made up, I think it’s about time we tell her.”

“Can’t ‘magine a better time,” Aunt May agreed with Dad.

“Tell me what?” I asked. We’d played this game before, and it meant they had a surprise for me.

Dad handed me a duffle bag.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Most people’d take a peek inside,” Aunt May squawked as she nudged the bag with her cane.

Goggles, a swim cap, and several competition swimsuits … it seemed like a cruel joke, but I knew something else was up.

“Do you like them?” Dad asked.

“Well, they’re awesome, but…”

“Mags,” Dad said, “Eureka Springs doesn’t have a high school swim team, but there is a club in Bentonville with a good coach. I met him last week. Mom and I, and Aunt May, have worked it all out. You won’t have to give up swimming. We’d never ask you to do that.”

“I … thank you,” I choked. I turned away from them—I hated crying in front of anyone. I did manage to keep the tears from rolling out of my welling eyes, but my throat burned and my lower lip quivered. Seeing my father’s big green eyes would surely push me over the edge. Fighting to keep my emotions in check, I let the news sink in—and forgot about everything else in the world.