The Steward (41 page)

The more I studied the shimmer, though, the less it felt like I saw it in the usual sense. I focused again on the third shot and realized I didn’t see it as much as I felt it. When I concentrated, it shimmered. It wasn’t just the fire from the fireworks that I noticed either. I looked at the trees behind me—I could sense the energy in them as well, and in everyone at the campfire. Concentrating on the fire, I realized that I’d been watching its shimmer the entire time—there was more there than flames and glowing embers.

The hotter or more powerful the source, the easier it was for me to detect, but when I concentrated I saw the shimmer in everything. Even the rocks—I sensed the heat in those closest to the fire. Amazing. Each new firework was something for me to concentrate on. I learned more about each one as they exploded and lit the air around them. I caught a glimpse of other displays across the lake. I concentrated on them but couldn’t sense the energy that far away. My new sensitivity had a range.

* * *

As Doug and I headed out across the lake, I thought about how quickly July had flown by. In the two weeks following Independence Day, I spent most of my time on the lake, at swim practice, working in the garden, or with Billy, practicing my abilities. I’d also spent more time with Doug than ever. He was a constant companion—warm, funny and caring. He’d practically adopted Mitch as his little brother. Doug’s presence made it all the more painful that I still couldn’t put Gavin out of my mind.

Despite trying to each day, I couldn’t stop thinking about Gavin. Common sense told me that I’d never see him again, but my heart wouldn’t let go of the possibility that he’d find a way. No matter how minute or unrealistic that possibility was, I clung to it. In some ways, it would be easy to be with Doug, but I knew I couldn’t be serious about him while I held out hope for one day reuniting with Gavin
.
I had to let go of the thought and return to the present, to reality, where Doug was a wonderful friend but could never be any more than that.

Mitch and his redheaded friend, Scotty, were with Doug and me. Since the incident on the inflatable, I refused to allow Mitch out of my sight, and as a result, he and I were closer than we’d ever been. My reward was his smile, which did more for my mood than anything else in the world. I liked to believe that without the tragedies he’d seen as a boy, Dad would have been exactly the same.

The bright blue sky was filled with enormous fluffy white clouds and a light breeze blew out of the southwest. It was another perfect day. Doug wanted to take us to the south end of the lake. Mitch and I hadn’t been to that part. He looked forward to exploring. Me, I just wanted to get away from the Fae for a few hours. After we filled up at a marina and cruised past Horse Shoe Bend, Doug slowed the Capri and circled to the right into a wide, wooded cove. To the right stood a solitary stone building surrounded by a chain link fence. The abandoned building was really no more than a ruin. It looked like a sad, lonely place, and the graffiti covering it only reinforced that impression.

When Mitch started telling Doug and Scotty about the “fairies” who built the dam and flooded the “man’s hotel,” I realized we were at Monte Ne. It reminded me that the Water trial was only two-and-a-half months away. I shuddered. It was also a reminder of what happened to people who crossed the Fae. Seeing the ruin, and knowing that we floated above the remains of a man’s dreams, drove home just how serious it was.

The Fae weren’t satisfied with merely getting their way. For those of us who knew what really happened, Monte Ne was a haunting reminder of the utter and complete destruction the Fae were capable of inflicting. Not only could they get to your life, they could find a way to get revenge after you were gone, whether that meant flooding a valley, or sinking a city below the sea. As I listened to Mitch retelling his exaggerated version of Aunt May’s story, I thought of him and what might happen if I made the wrong decision.

As if the ruins weren’t enough, I felt one of
them
nearby. It wasn’t in the water, so I reached out with my senses. A Fae in the form of a man stood in an upper window of the three-story ruin watching us. My gut told me it was Chalen. It didn’t look like him, but I knew better.
Watching, always watching.

I hadn’t seen him then, but I knew Chalen watched us on the Fourth. I occasionally felt a Fae presence along the road—lingering in the woods—as I drove into town. Aunt May had been right—after I passed the third trial, the Unseelie began stalking me. I hated it, but I hid my thoughts like always.

After a few minutes, I suggested that we get on our way. The Fae in the building never moved. It was still in the same place when we cruised far enough away that I could no longer sense it.

I don’t remember the rest of the afternoon, except that I kept my senses spread as far as I could to detect more of them. It was a Fae-free afternoon until we got back to the Cottage. The Fae in the garden were still there, unmoved. Others moved about the Weald, and they appeared to ignore us as we tied the boat up.

Dad was home, a fact I found strange because it was only four o’clock. He wasn’t alone either. When we came through the lower garden gate, I saw a Cadillac Escalade in the drive, and Dad, with Mom at his side, was talking with several men in slacks and dress shirts. Dad saw us and said something to the men, who turned and smiled at us. At first I thought there was trouble because they looked a little like cops. As we got closer, though, the men returned to the silver SUV and pulled away a few seconds later. Mom looked sad, and Dad tried to hide his emotions.

“Who were they?” I asked as I watched the vehicle disappear past the cedars.

“They were lost,” Dad said.

I noticed Mom’s expression change when he said it—she stared at him and she looked slightly angry.

“Mom? Were they cops?”

She thought about it for a second and looked sad again. She and Dad exchanged a quick glance.

“No, Honey, they were lost, and I hope they never find their way back,” she said, more to my father than me.

She was angry. Dad gave her an apologetic look as she glared, spun, and walked back to the studio, slamming the door shut behind her.

“So, how was the lake?” Dad asked, feigning a good mood.

That was the only cue Mitch needed. He began telling Dad about Monte Ne and the south end of the lake. I didn’t remember seeing half of what he described, and I didn’t care. I kept my eyes on Dad—he was hiding something and I knew it.

Dad had listed his old Mustang in the paper. I wouldn’t have known had it not been for a classmate who called me directly to see if I thought Dad would lower his price. I wondered if the men in the Cadillac were here to buy it. My stomach hurt to think about it, and even more so as I listened to Mitch continue his story.

* * *

On Saturday morning
,
the first thing I
sensed
when I woke up was the first thing I always
sensed of late
: the immortal sentinals standing watch in the garden. I’d grown to hate their presence. They hadn’t moved an inch since the night Gavin left. Before, when they floated about or scampered around in
animal
form, they didn’t seem so oppressive.
Since then, they stood perfectly still
, watching,
and
I felt like I did right after we moved here: like a prisoner.

It didn’t help any that I
had to
pra
c
tic
e
my abilities away from the Weald so they couldn’t see what I
learned
. At Billy’s request, the charade was even more involved than that. I did mock practices in the garden, acting oblivious to the Fae
,
fumbling things on purpose for them to witness. If they
reported
what I
did
to the Council—or someone else—they
couldn’t
report much.
I hope they’re bored to tears. I am.

Playing this game only reinforced how much I did not trust the Council. More than that, I
grew
weary of keeping my thoughts private. To make matters worse, Billy slipped up and told me that some Fae had been known to watch dreams. It frightened me, because I couldn’t control my mind when I slept. I only hoped that if I did dream,
it wasn’t
about anything too suspect. Billy tried to comfort me
. H
e said that human dreams made him dizzy because they were so eradic. Because our dreams were filled with so many different images, he
told me
, gleaning anything useful from them was pointless—unless
the Fae looked
for nightmares.
Like that’s supposed to make me feel better.

I was still worried about Dad
.
I
didn’t
care
so much
about his Mustang,
but
I knew what selling it would do to Mitch
. S
o I called Danny Johns and asked for help.

“Maggie, people sell things all the time
,” he said.

“He wouldn’t sell it when we were broke because it meant too much to him, but now we don’t need the money. It’s bizzare too, because he’s promised it to my little brother. Mitch will be devastated if he sells it—
D
ad knows that.”

“Well, if it’s what you want, I can remedy the situation.”

“Oh, no,” I said when I considered the thought of him compelling my father. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Maggie, one doesn’t have to glamour people to make everyone happy—though it is most effective.”

“Please, no, but what else can you do?”

“I intend to let your dad sell the car.”

“What?”

“Don’t interupt—I mean for
you
to buy it. You are about to inherit a large fortune, right?”

“But I won’t have any money for a year-and-a-half.”

He laughed into the receiver.

“Maggie, humans created this dandy little device called a
straw
man
—a legal fiction. It allows them to do things they wouldn’t ordinarily be allowed to do. The point is, I can take care of it.”

After he explained what he
planned
to do, he told me to call him if anything else came up. I thanked him and hung up. One crisis averted.

* * *

Sunday afternoon I met Billy. Some days we practiced while he tended the cats. They didn’t seem to mind, and even Vada, the black Leopard, became accustomed to seeing me. He’d even taken to visiting me at the fence.

I spent so much time with Billy that I’d started volunteering at
Turpentine Creek
. It was the only way I could convince Mom and Dad to let me out of the cottage beyond the hours I spent swimming. Unaware of my real purpose, they approved of my new vocation. They’d even brought Mitch to see the cats a few times. Billy and I didn’t spend all of our time at the compound, though. When we were there, Billy put me to work trying to teach me how to block the images in my mind more covertly. When I needed to practice my other skills, we went to more remote locations where there were no Fae.

Today was one of those days. We rendezvoused at a place called
Pivot Rock
—a park in the mountains just west of Eureka. I drove by the entrance to it each time I went into town, but had never bothered to stop. We took the trail past the namesake rock formation. It was a large slab of rock fifteen or twenty feet high that looked a little like a stone sail boat hull balanced on its keel.

The park was heavily wooded, like the rest of the Ozarks, but there were fewer bluffs than at the Weald. The thick tree canopy afforded some relief from the midsummer sun. The breeze helped a lot, too. Billy turned off the path and darted up a hill. I followed, struggling to keep pace. We came across another trail and he headed north. There were no people there and I couldn’t sense any Fae, either. We hiked for another thirty minutes until we came to a place where the forest was quiet—I could only hear the sounds of the leaves rustling and the occasional bird song in the distance.

We had made similar hikes since he began working with me. When it stormed, we worked on lightning. I could sense when it was about to strike, but I couldn’t control it. Like Gavin, Billy could create and direct bolts from the clouds. He told me that I needed to focus on extending the range of my mind and learn to draw more energy. Like Gavin, Billy could create bolts and plasma in his hands. Up to now, I could manage a little more than static electricity. And it didn’t matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t sense the clouds overhead.

On other trips he had me honing my Air skills. He taught me how to control my abilities beyond my natural gift, working with me to enhance my defenses. I could block most anything he hurled at me, though it unnerved me each time he slung a tree trunk or boulder. I showed him Lola’s ballet in my mind, and he had me practice it in my spare time. I was getting better, but still needed work to match Aunt May’s performance.