Sign of the Throne: Book One in the Solas Beir Trilogy (16 page)

“Good. Now, go home before it gets too dark. You will see David very soon—make the most of your time with him. Trust yourself and follow the signs. You will know what to say when the time is right. He needs to trust you enough to come here, so that together you can use your halves of the Sign to open the portal. His twenty-third birthday is in twelve days, so we must hurry.”

“Wait—twelve days?” Abby did a quick calculation. “That’s just two days after the Autumn Ball. With all due respect, if you haven’t been able to get through to him all this time, how…?”

“I know. Time is short and it seems impossible.”

“Well, yes,” Abby replied.

“I have been imprisoned here a long time, Abby. These years in your world have made me tired and weak. But I have learned a great many things in that time. One is that I should trust my dreams, and I have seen that this time we will win. The other thing I have learned is that even when I was in my lowest, most desperate state in this place, the universe has provided for me. It is when things seem impossible that miracles happen.”

SIGNS

T
hat night, Abby recorded the afternoon’s events in her journal and made a few quick sketches of Brarn, Nysa, and the Sign of the Throne. She felt overwhelmed. Given all she had heard in the past hours, she was certain that either she wouldn’t be able to sleep at all, or that she would be haunted by nightmares of bloodthirsty sirens and stalking Shadows, all with evil smiles full of gleaming, white teeth.

Fortunately, neither was the case, and she slept peacefully. It was the first time since that initial dream about David and the Shadows that she did not dream at all.
Guess that’s how my brain reacts to stress,
she thought as she got ready for school. She felt refreshed and strong.

After school, she headed to the Buchan house. Both Cassandra and Riordan had the night off from teaching, but instead of going out on a date, they had invited Abby over for dinner to sample the world-famous Buchan clan version of manicotti formaggio. She’d been expecting a traditional Scottish dish, given Riordan’s love of his culture, but then again, she had learned to expect the unexpected from both Riordan and Cassandra. Neither erred toward the conventional, and she loved that about them.

Although Abby was looking forward to an evening with the Buchan family, she felt nervous. A battle was being waged in her mind. She had agreed to keep Riordan and Cassandra posted if anything strange happened, and yesterday had been beyond strange. It had been supernatural, magical, horrifying, and enlightening. She knew they would be interested in hearing about her afternoon with Eulalia and Nysa, entranced even, and yet she kept hearing Eulalia’s warning over and over in her mind. Could she trust them?

Abby knocked on the door and Cassandra answered, wearing an apron dotted with tomato sauce.

“Welcome!” Cassandra grinned. She held out a wooden spoon spilling over with the ricotta and mozzarella cheese filling for the manicotti. “Here—try this.”

“Hi there,” Abby grinned back. She tasted the filling. “Wow—that’s
heaven
.”

“I know! If ever I’m on death row and have to choose a last meal, this is it,” Cassandra cooed.

“Remind me again—why would you be on death row?” Abby asked.

“Well, you know,” Cassandra smiled, “it’s good to have a plan, just in case.”

Abby laughed. Yes, she could trust Cassandra. Even so, she would take it slow. No need to share everything yet.

“Come on back—we’re just busy in the kitchen.” Cassandra flitted off with her usual energy, grinning like an imp. Abby couldn’t help but find herself at ease, putting the mental battle to rest for the moment.

Riordan was absorbed in the task of stuffing the manicotti, and like Cassandra, he was covered in blossoms of red sauce. The white chef’s apron he’d donned bore the brunt of the damage, but Abby could see a smudge of red on his chin and on the kilt he wore, and there was a dollop of cheese filling on the rolled-up cuff of his white long-sleeved shirt. He smiled a hello to Abby and returned to his job, intent on getting the recipe right. Cassandra had told Abby that for Riordan, cooking this meal was serious business—apparently the pride of the entire Buchan clan depended on it. The kids were at the dining room table, Ciaran reading from a picture book to the younger two, who chattered with excitement as the young sage imparted knowledge.

Cassandra drizzled sauce over a finished pan of stuffed manicotti. “Abby, do you mind setting the table?”

“Sure, I’d be happy to,” Abby replied, turning to the kitchen cabinet to pull out dishes.

“Thanks—hey, pretty necklace. Is that new?” Cassandra paused en route to placing the pan in the oven.

“Uh, yeah,” Abby said, running her fingers over the silver seashell. “It is.” She was going to have to share her news soon—Cassandra was observant, and she would know Abby was hiding something. “A, uh, friend gave it to me.”

Cassandra appeared oblivious to Abby’s inner dilemma. “Very nice—it’s the perfect example of a logarithmic spiral.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Abby had no idea what she was talking about.

“Remember our friend Jakob Bernoulli and his thoughts on synchronicity?” Cassandra asked.

Vaguely,
Abby thought. But that wasn’t the answer Cassandra was looking for. “Yes...?”

“Well, guess what? He was
obsessed
with spirals like that,” Cassandra said.

“Wow,” Abby said. “That’s an interesting coincidence.”

“Synchronicity,” Cassandra corrected. “He called it
spira mirabilis,
the marvelous spiral, because it occurs so frequently in nature—sea shells, hurricanes, galaxies, the approach of a hawk to its prey...”

“Hmmm,” Abby murmured thoughtfully, one finger stroking the shell. She could feel it pulsing in response.

Cassandra was in her professor role now. “With each turn, the size of the spiral increases, but its shape remains constant. Some scholars even saw it as a sign of the divine, since its proportions are equal to phi, the golden ratio. That is a geometric relationship often found in nature, art, architecture, et cetera, et cetera. It’s associated with perfection and beauty. Have you ever seen Leonardo da Vinci’s drawing,
The Vitruvian Man
? You know—the drawing with the man in a circle and square, his arms and legs spread out?”

Abby nodded. “Oh, yes, I’ve seen that one.”

“Well, that drawing is a study of symmetry and proportion in an ideal human figure. The golden ratio can even be found in the human body,” Cassandra said. “Pretty amazing, no?”

“Fascinating.”

“Well said,” Cassandra noted, smiling. “It has been a source of fascination for scholars for centuries. In fact, Bernoulli was so amazed by the phenomenon that he chose a logarithmic spiral for his gravestone, accompanied by the motto,
Eadem mutata resurgo
, which means, ‘Changed and yet the same, I rise again.’”

“Wow—that is very cool,” Abby said.

“Very. Although the stonemason made a mistake and used an Archimedean spiral instead. I’m sure that made Bernoulli turn in his grave,” Cassandra added solemnly.

Not wanting to appear irreverent, Abby simply nodded.

While she did not share Cassandra’s manic love of mathematics, she could appreciate that the Sign of the Throne represented something greater than she knew, something that spoke of the divine.

Abby’s thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell.

Cassandra looked at the door and then down at the pan she was still holding. “Oops, guess I forgot to put this in the oven. I’ll take care of this if you’ll get the door.”

Abby shook her head and laughed at Cassandra’s absentmindedness. “Nooo problem, Professor.” Smiling to herself, she trotted over to the door and opened it.

David Corbin stood in front of her.

Seeing her smile, he smiled back. “Hello, Abby. Is Aunt Moira here?”

Abby was so caught off guard by David’s sudden appearance, that it took her a full second to remember who Moira was and that he was somehow connected to her. “Oh! Of course. Please, come in, and I’ll let her know you’re here.” Abby gestured to the living room and turned toward the kitchen, almost colliding with Cassandra, who had emerged to greet their visitor.

“David,” Cassandra said warmly. “How sweet of you to pay Aunt Moira a visit. I’m sure she will be happy to see you. Abby—why don’t you keep David entertained, and I’ll get Moira.”

“Oh,” Abby said. “Sure.”

Cassandra disappeared down the hallway, leaving Abby and David to stare awkwardly at each other.

“So…” Abby began. She racked her brain, desperately searching for something to say, and drew a complete blank. It was all his fault. He looked amazing standing there in his leather jacket and jeans, his blue eyes burning into hers.

“So?” David smiled, waiting.

Abby put her hands in her jean pockets. “So, I guess I’m supposed to keep you entertained.”

He nodded. “Guess so.”

And it’s going
very
well so far,
Abby thought. “So, um, that’s really nice of you to visit your aunt. I’m sure she has missed you.”

“T
echnically, she’s not my aunt,” David said.

“Oh?”

“She’s been a part of my life forever,” he replied, “but we’re not actually related.”

“I see.” Abby paused, unsure of where to go next with the conversation. David was not being terribly helpful either. “Well, I imagine she will want to hear all about your trip. You were in the South Pacific?”

“Yes, in Thailand and Australia,” David said.

“And what was your favorite part?”

“Hmmm, good question,” he said. “It was all beautiful and amazing, but I guess I’d have to say diving off the Great Barrier Reef. That was incredible—there was just so much life down there.”

“Wow—what did you see?” Abby asked.

“More than I would have imagined,” David reminisced. “Sea turtles, feather stars, lion fish, sharks—”

She stared at him, widening her eyes. “Sharks?”

“Just little ones on the reef,” David said.

“Define
little
,” Abby said.

“Black-tip reef sharks, maybe four or five feet long—no big deal,” David said.

“Four or five feet? I’m like, five foot seven—that would be a
big
deal to me.”

David laughed. “Well, they’re not really a threat to divers. They tend to keep their distance. Anyway, I enjoyed that so much that I went on a cage diving expedition with great whites.”

“No way.”

“Way.” David grinned. He seemed to be enjoying the look of shock on Abby’s face.

“
Why
would you do that?” she asked, incredulous.

“Why
wouldn’t
I do that?”

“Um,
let’s see, where do I start?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips.

David chuckled. “It’s not as scary as you might think. Sure, they’re these huge, powerful creatures—”

“With a reputation for eating people…”

“T
hat
is
a consideration,” he conceded. “But they are also beautiful and amazing. You just have to stay away from the bitey end and try not to look like prey.”

“Oh, is that all?” Abby asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Actually, yes,” David said, nodding. “I mean, they cruise by the cage and check you out, but they don’t automatically attack you. They’re curious, not ruthless. When they attack, they are just doing what they were built to do. And they don’t attack people that often.”

“No big deal.” Abby shook her head in disbelief.
This boy is crazy. Cute, but crazy.

David laughed. “Have you ever traveled abroad, Abby?”

She frowned. “I’ve never had the opportunity.”

“Well, if you ever do, don’t be afraid to seize the day,” David said. “Travel opens you up to new perspectives, new opportunities that you might never ordinarily enjoy.”

“I’m not
afraid
of taking risks,” Abby protested. “I just don’t see the point of putting my life in danger for no good reason.”

“I didn’t put my life in danger,” David argued, stepping closer to her and staring into her eyes. “It’s just when you immerse yourself in another culture, you let go of some of your former inhibitions. The thing about Australia is that there are so many things that can maim or kill you there—sharks, crocs, snakes, spiders—BIG freakin’ spiders—even the duck-billed platypus is venomous. So you kind of make peace with that and enjoy yourself. Life is too short not to have a good time.”

Abby found herself caught in his gaze—she couldn’t look away. She hoped David wouldn’t quiz her on the many ways she could die Down Under, because she had gotten bewitched by the sound of his voice and had failed to catch the details of what he’d said. His voice had a rough, gravelly edge, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It was deep and seductive, even when she thought he might have said something about a potentially lethal platypus. She’d have to look up that tidbit of trivia later—it sounded like something important to know if she ever found herself ambushed by egg-laying mammals. Or she’d ask Ciaran—he would know.