LEMNISCATE (16 page)

T
he mug was warm in my hands. It felt too good to put down. I took another sip and sighed.

Ryan was staring at me. “Okay, tell.”

“Tell what?”

“The bathroom. Brynn. Go on with it.”

I sighed again and took a look around. Most of the tables were empty and only a few customers were up at the counter.

“The door was jammed so I pushed. I had no idea she was on the other side, and it made her drink spill down the front of her dress. Then, she freaked.”

“Define freak.” He was leaning forward on his arms now, giving me his full, eager attention.

Beneath the table I traced the inside of my palm with my finger.

I scrunched my face, trying to recall exactly. “She wigged out. She pulled my hair and pushed me against the wall. Actually, it was in the opposite order. She was really strong. And her face was . . .”

I couldn’t finish and he didn’t press me. He just looked at me across the table ignoring his black coffee. I wondered silently if this had anything to do with the so-called prophecy. Was this really hell as Ryan had questioned in the closet, and as Hadrian seemed to confirm the other night? Part of me simply wanted to believe that Brynn was a stark-raving lunatic who needed to be institutionalized immediately. Her father was a doctor; couldn’t he see the signs?

“She doesn’t hang out with her friends anymore,” Ryan volunteered.

“I know. They seem to have ditched her.”

Ryan finally took a sip of his coffee. “She’s keeping company with Garreth lately, huh?”

Instead of answering, I looked down and played with my napkin.

Do I tell him? About the prophecy? Would it scare him if I said that every thought he spoke out loud about hell was indeed real?

My head was killing me.

Ryan leaned over and whispered very softly, even though there was no one around to hear.

“I had a dream about Claire again last night.”

I looked up.

“She said you were the answer.”

“The answer to what?” I whispered back as the hairs on my arms began to stand.

“I have no idea.” Then he reached over, took my hand and carefully opened it. Hadrian had called it a lemniscate. I sighed. There it was—an eight lying sideways across my palm.

Infinity.

I sucked in my breath, waiting for the slew of questions to stream from across the table. I had never let Ryan inspect my mark so closely before, always playing it up that it was simply a burn, and that to touch it gave me the willies.

“You hold forever in your hand,” Ryan said quietly. The funny thing was, he didn’t seem too surprised. I wondered if his dream about Claire had prepared him in some way?

The outside pocket of my purse vibrated, and I reached down to retrieve my phone.

My mother’s voice was practically frantic on the other end. “Teagan, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

“Nate called me.”
No surprise there.
“He said Brynn’s missing.”

“Relax, Mom. She’s probably still at the dance.” I didn’t bother mentioning who she was whirling and twirling across the dance floor with.

“Honey, the dance ended forty-five minutes ago. Where are you?”

I yanked Ryan’s arm toward me and fumbled for his watch beneath his sleeve. How long had we been sitting here? “Sorry, we stopped for coffee. I didn’t realize what time it was.”

“Please, Teagan, will you just run over to his house and help him? He said he would meet you there in fifteen minutes. I’d go myself but I’m still not feeling all that great.” She did sound tired, which made me wonder if it was more than an extended hangover. Maybe she had the flu?

“Brynn’s a big girl. I’m sure she’ll show up eventually.” I was getting exasperated. What was I now? Her keeper?

My mother grew silent on the other end.

“Mom?”

“Please, just do this for me. I’m worried about Nate.”

“I thought you were worried about Brynn?”

Again, there was silence and then my mother’s voice could be heard softly in my ear. “It’s the anniversary of her mother’s death, honey. Every year she takes it harder and harder.”

What could I say to that, besides agree to go? Even though it was the last thing I wanted to do, even though the thought of setting foot inside that big, creepy house at night made me shiver.

Ryan gave me a raised eyebrow, which translated meant “fill me in, I’m clueless.”

I hastily explained, grabbing my keys.

“Think she’s with Garreth?”

I shrugged. Who knew? If they were missing, maybe they didn’t want to be found, and right now, I didn’t want to be the one to stumble upon them and shout
oh there you are!

Much to his dismay, I insisted on dropping Ryan off at his house. I could see he was wearing thin. The evening had done him in and I couldn’t bring myself to be responsible for slowing down his recovery. Besides, perhaps it was time to put this prophecy business to the test. When I pulled up to the stately home of Dr. Dean, I took note that only two lights were on. One was the front porch light, perhaps left on for me, and the other was gleaming dimly through the heavy designer draperies on the east side of the house. I ventured to guess that the good doctor was busying himself in his study while he waited for me and the return of his stepdaughter.

Great, my favorite room of the house.

The entire ride over, I repeated the same phrase in my head.
I’m doing this for my mom. I’m doing this for my mom.
Now that I had arrived, it was safe to say that the little pep talk did nothing to squelch my butterflies. Either that, or the strong coffee I had nursed for nearly an hour was beginning to kick in.

My footsteps echoed on the flagstone walk as I treaded up to the doorbell, my orange dress billowing in the breeze. After a few tense moments, the door swung open and there stood Nate looking troubled, flashing a forced smile.

“Glad you could come. Your mom called to say you were on your way.”

I stepped inside, once again taking in the sparkling opulence of his home.

“I have a feeling I know where to find her,” he uttered, closing the heavy front door.

“Um, if you don’t mind my asking . . . if you know where she is, then why do you need my help?”

Without answering, he motioned for me to follow him down the hall, straight towards the one room I had no desire of ever stepping foot in again. A feeling of déjà vu swept over me. Once more I was reluctantly following someone in this house, and I wasn’t too happy about it.

The study was in a state of disarray. I sucked my breath in and looked around, confused by the papers and books strewn about. Volumes of collectible journals and manuscripts bearing medical insignias were scattered. The desk, immaculately organized the last I had seen it, was now covered with papers and various files.

Dr. Dean was disheveled as well. His shirttails were half tucked in, half pulled out of his trousers. His clothing was wrinkled and appeared slept in, matching the stubble growing on his face. He ran his hand wearily through his tousled hair, messing it up even further.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

“It’s been a long night.” His voice usually had a soft spoken tone but tonight it was rough and gravelly. Maybe he was catching whatever my mom seemed to have.  He stood staring at the mess around us, shaking his head.

“Who did this?”

Dr. Dean tore his gaze from the chaos to meet my eyes. “Actually, I did.”

There must have been a strange look on my face because he immediately answered, “I was looking for something. A map I believe Brynn took with her tonight before disappearing.”

With a deep and weary sigh, he continued. “There’s a journal I keep. It’s very important to me. Beyond representing my devotion as a doctor, this journal is my life’s work, and it seems Brynn has made every effort to try and find it.”

Did Brynn have the journal? My thoughts raced as I pictured her reading the secrets contained within its pages.

“No need to be worried, Teagan. I’ve hidden the book well and am sure it’s quite safe. The map is an exact replica of one in my journal and is, unfortunately, no longer here.”

“Was it . . . someplace special? The place the map leads to?” I felt uncomfortable asking, especially knowing the map had ties to the journal, but I quickly reminded myself that he was the one who asked for my help finding Brynn. It would seem running off to the cemetery or perhaps visiting a place that held special meaning to her, or reminded her of her mom, would have made more sense than following an old map.

Dr. Dean sat down at his desk and fiddled with the marble paperweight, picking it up and setting it down on the jumble of papers there, over and over again.

“There have been stories of sacred places handed down through the years, many of which I have recorded in my journal. I happen to be very fond of ancient spiritual lore. This map supposedly leads to such a place, one of great mystery and power. With her mother gone for a few years now, there’s no doubt Brynn is searching for something fulfilling.”

The paperweight landed squarely with a final thud.

“I’m sorry, but where exactly do you think we should start looking for her?” A nagging impatience hit me suddenly, making me anxious to head out, but still, his words echoed in my head.
Sacred place. Ancient lore. All recorded in his journal. He knows
, my subconscious warned.
He knows about guardians.

All too quickly, the room felt excruciatingly warm. The fireplace had felt nice when I first came in from the chilly night but now seemed to exaggerate the uncomfortable alarm stirring inside me. My thumb found the inside of my hand, feeling the impression inlaid there as an old familiar tingling began to surface on my skin. Was it warning?

Dr. Dean’s eyes, bright from the fire’s glow reflected in them, zeroed in on mine. It was as though he had something extremely vital to say to me. Something for my ears alone and I had no idea what to expect. I clenched my hand tightly. Had he seen me rubbing the mark on my hand? It was an instinctive thing of late that I reached for the marking etched there, as if my touch could calm the building tremor within my skin and soothe the sense of warning that often came on so strongly.

But instead, he crossed the room to the bookcases where a rather obscure shadow box hung on the wall. Dr. Dean turned to me and quietly motioned that I too should be inspecting this little shelf-like box. I had never noticed it before, so easily it blended in with the deep tones of the wooded bookcases. It seemed to be filled with knick-knacks, little things that were perhaps precious and meaningful but that went unnoticed stored in the depths of the interior compartment. In the sparse lighting I could make out a small stack of postcards from Hawaii, a small box adorned with shells and beads and several lumpy rocks I assumed were lava.

“She hates me,” Dr. Dean said quietly. “She believes I took the most important thing from her, which I suppose I did.”

I looked up at him, standing still by my side. In the dim of the room he appeared wearier than ever.

“Brynn wants nothing to do with me or with what I consider to be important. So, of course, I always assumed this was the best place to hide what means the most to me.” I watched as he reached up allowing his hand to disappear into the depths of the box, pulling from it a smooth brown, leather book. It was the journal and by his words, had possibly been safe from Brynn’s prying eyes all along.

I internally questioned why Brynn would want the book in the first place, but remembering the sand on the floor and in her room, I swallowed my urge to ask.

It seemed that the moment the journal was removed from its safe hiding place, the flames in the fireplace swelled higher—as if boasting or challenging the book itself. My head was playing tricks with me again and I tried to focus on the smooth leather book Nate now held in his hands.

He took a step closer to me. The flicker from the roaring fire was making the room spin. I was having trouble thinking.

“You’re not alone in all this.”

I looked up at him and a familiar kindness sparkled in his gray eyes, but I couldn’t bring myself to rely on it. Not yet.

Without a word, he held his right hand out to me and a shudder seized my body. I stared at his hand in disbelief. He stood patiently, giving me time to process what he was revealing, and then tentatively took my hand and brought it up next to his own. They were nearly identical. He shook his head and smiled, acknowledging what I couldn’t speak.

“There are others like us.”

The symbol of unity etched into his hand was faded and worn, maybe because he was a grown man and I still had the smooth hands of youth. I shook my head . . . so many questions.

“It developed when I was eleven years old. I never understood why, so I kept it hidden from my family and friends. My parents were still very Old World and superstitious, believing that which couldn’t be explained was the work of something dark and dreadful. Besides that, you and I both understand how cruel children can be.

“I devoted a large part of my life to it, determined to find its meaning. You have no idea how relieved I was to discover that it was not the sign of something dark and evil, but indeed the opposite. My next mission was to find someone else bearing the gift of the angels. I don’t have the ability to see my guardian like you, although I can feel a presence with me at times. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I understood the reason for the mark I was given.”

I looked at him, my breathing flowing easier into my lungs once again, no longer feeling threatened.

“You see,” he continued, noticing my ease. “We all have a role to play. An alliance to form. Mine was never spelled out for me, so I had to seek it out on my own.”

He gently took the journal and began leafing through the delicate pages. My eyes widened when he faced an open page in my direction. Three names took up the entire page. Hadrian’s name was the first, though for whatever reason, it was crossed out. The next two names gave me chills, for they were bold and dark, as if written in blood, and lacked the black streak striking them out.