The Prophecy (22 page)

I
swallowed hard. “I found out the other day I have a brother. Not a full
brother,” I said quickly, seeing the confusion on his face, “but a
half-brother. We share the same father.”

Adrian’s
mouth worked silently for a few moments as he struggled to form a question—any
question. “You have a brother?  That’s awesome. I think.”

He
grabbed my hands suddenly. “How do you know? Have you met him?” And then a
stricken look came over his face. “Have you met your father?”

“I
haven’t met my father, but I
have
met my brother.” I bit my bottom lip.
“And so have you.”

His
brows knitted into a straight line, like a very dark caterpillar resting over
his eyes. “I have?”

I took
a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. “It’s Caleb.”

“Caleb
. . .
Moon
?” he said in disbelief, blinking repeatedly.

I bit
my bottom lip again. “Yeah.”

“As in Charley’s
Caleb. Jasmine’s brother. My best friend.
That
Caleb?”

I
shrugged and gave him a sheepish smile. “Yeah.”

Adrian sat
back, nervously zipping and unzipping his jacket. I waited in silence as he got
over the initial shock. “Wow,” he said after a few moments. “Just . . . wow. I
can’t believe it.”

I
laughed a little uncertainly. “I know. Weird, huh?”

“How
did you . . . I don’t understand how you found out. Did Caleb know? Is he the
one who told you?”

I
tucked an errant strand of hair behind my ear and cleared my throat. “Well,
it’s sort of a long story. There’s this man named Sebastian—”

“Who’s Sebastian?”

I
looked at him. “My uncle, apparently. My father’s brother.”

“How
did you meet Sebastian?” Adrian said, running his hand through his hair,
obviously overwhelmed.

I waved
my hand, impatient to get through this. “I told you it’s a long story. Just
listen.”

“Fine,”
Adrian said. “So this Sebastian guy told you that Caleb is your half-brother?”

I
nodded. “I told Meg and David, and we confronted Caleb about it. The poor guy
didn’t even see it coming.”

“I’ll
say.”

“When
you saw us together at the creek the other day, it was only because we were
practicing our magic. I couldn’t tell you then what we were up to because no one
knew about him. He didn’t want you to know because he didn’t want you to look
at him any differently.

“Adrian,”
I said, grabbing his hand suddenly. “I want you to know that there was never
anything between Caleb and me but friendship.”

“I see
that now,” he said. He shook his head. “God, I feel like a colossal idiot.”

He met
my eyes. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

“It’s
okay,” I said. “I’m sorry, too.”

“And
just so we’re clear, there’s nothing going on between Jasmine and me. The
reason I didn’t answer your call last night was because I was with her.”

I
narrowed my eyes. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Adrian squeezed
my hand. “No! That didn’t come out right. Do you remember last year, before we
hooked up, when you saw Katie Cunningham getting into my car?”

Boy,
did I ever remember that. I’d been beyond mad, not to mention hurt. That was
back when I was still trying to figure out how Adrian really felt about me. Katie
had been an interfering pain in my backside as she kept trying to make a play
for Adrian. In the end, Adrian had stood up for me and told Katie to butt out.

Understanding
dawned on me at once. “So it’s like that?”

He gave
me a lopsided grin. “Pretty much.”

I
looked down at the ground. “I feel like such a jerk.”

“Don’t,”
he said. “I was the one being a jerk for getting mad at you. And then I was a
hypocrite for avoiding you this morning. I should have been upfront, but I knew
you were hiding something from me, and I was jealous, and . . .” He let his
voice trail off.

I met his
eyes again. “What did she say?”

“Jasmine’s
had a crush on me for as long as I can remember, so I guess I never took it all
that seriously. She was just Caleb’s bratty kid sister. But Shyla told me I had
to do something about it once and for all or risk losing you.”

I
lowered my head to Adrian’s shoulder. This felt good. It felt
right
. We
were back to where we were supposed to be. The air had been cleared, and
nothing would ever come between us again.

“So
what now?” Adrian said.

I
leaned against him and nestled into the crook of his arm. “Well, I have a few
questions for Charley.”

“Such
as?”

“Such
as why she tried to pass Caleb off as Nathan Moon’s son .”

And
that’s when it hit me: Charley Moon, my mother’s supposed best friend, truly
did hate us. Aida’s death, my family’s exile, the entire tribe turning its back
on Shyla . . . all of it happened because Charley Moon chose not to come
forward and tell the truth about who Caleb’s father really was. Instead of
taking the heat herself, she let others do it for her.

And
then a thought began to take shape in the dark recesses of my mind, something
so horrifying that I cowered against Adrian, terrified to think it might actually
be true.

TWENTY

“What
if Victor didn’t start the fire?” I said when we got home from Imogene’s house
that night.

Meg stiffened
at my words, the cup of laundry soap she was just about to empty hovering in
her hand over the open washing machine. She tipped it slowly and the soap ran
out in a thin, clear stream.

“A
little warning next time, Sarah. Why would you even say that? We know he did.
He admitted as much, even if that’s not what the report says.” She slammed the
washer lid with a
clang
, picked up the laundry basket, and shoved past
me.

“It’s
almost midnight. Why are you doing laundry?”

“Because
I’m too keyed up to sleep!” she said, visibly agitated.

I trailed
after her as she made her way around the house collecting dirty towels and
errant laundry into the basket. “But what if Victor’s lying?” I said.

Meg
balanced the plastic hamper on her hip and turned to me. “What reason would
Victor have for lying about something like starting a fire?”

I followed
after her again, nearly bumping into her backside as she stooped to pick up a
magazine that had fallen off the coffee table.

“I’m
not saying that Victor didn’t have anything to do with the fire,” I said. “But
I think someone else might have been involved.”

“Someone
else. Like who?”

“Like
Charley.”

Meg
stopped short and turned to stare at me. “Charley? That’s a pretty wild
accusation.”

“I
know. But Sebastian said my father never stopped loving my mom and me. And
Caleb said the one time he saw our father, he and Charley were arguing about
something.”

“So?
And anyway,” she said with a wave of her hand. “That was a long time ago. Caleb
was young. He might have been confused about what he saw.”

“He
wasn’t that young. And Sebastian said it was only a short time later that the
fire happened.”

Meg
shook her head. “And you’re thinking what? That Charley set the fire in a fit
of jealous rage?” She sat down heavily, clinging to the basket as though for
support.

“I
don’t trust her, Meg. I’m almost positive she had something to do with that
fire. What if she set it to get back at my father?”

Meg
gave me a long, hard look. “We’re talking murder here. That seems pretty
extreme, even for Charley.”

Maybe,
but maybe not.

“Okay,
so what if she convinced Victor to set it for her? I always thought it was
weird that he waited to get his so-called revenge for his wife’s death, but
what if he had someone putting ideas in his head all along, stoking his hate, so
to speak? Imogene said he used to be a good man.”

Meg
chewed her bottom lip. “That does sound more like the Charley I know. Not one
to get her own hands dirty. Still,” she shook her head. “How would you prove
that? One of them would have to confess. And that’s not likely to happen.”

I
collapsed onto the sofa as Meg continued with her work. She was right. Getting
one of them to admit to setting the fire, and why, was not likely to happen.
But then again . . .

I
pulled my cell from my pocket and dialed Adrian’s number, crossing my fingers that
he was awake. “Is your dad still trying to contact you?”

“All
the time. Why?”

“Call
him. Tell him I need to talk to him.”

“Sarah,
I don’t—”

“Please
do it.” And then I ended the call.

I
thought for a moment, gathering my courage to make one more call.

 “Cover
for me today?” I said over the phone to Priscilla as I hurried down the
sidewalk in the direction of school.

“You’re
ditching during the first week of school? Omigod, someone alert the authorities
and hold a press conference. This is
major!
”

“Will
you cover for me or not?” I so didn’t have time for this.

“Hang
on a minute. Exactly why am I covering for you?”

“I’ll
tell you later. I promise.”

“You’re
my best friend. You’ll tell me now.”

“As my
best friend, it’s your duty to cover for me when I need it. No questions asked.”

“Nuh-uh.
It doesn’t work like that.”

“Fine. If
you must know, I’m going to meet my father today.” I looked up at the
throttling growl of a motorcycle as it slowed and came to a stop next to me.
“Gotta go.”

“But—”

I hung
up before Priscilla could get another word in edgewise, but I knew for a fact
she wouldn’t let me down.

I quickly
stowed my backpack in the storage compartment and put on the spare helmet
dangling in Sebastian’s outstretched hand. Then I hopped on behind him and
wrapped my arms around his waist, holding on for dear life as he shot off.

For the
sake of time, I wasn’t going to meet my father on his own reservation, wherever
that was. I had to be back home by my normal time in order not to get caught in
my little web of lies. Sebastian had set up a neutral meeting place a few hours
north of town.

By the
time Sebastian pulled into the parking lot of the little highway cafe, I was
only too relieved. We had made several stops along the way, more for my sake
than his, but I was numb with cold, and my legs and arms were cramped and
refused to bend. Plus, I’d had plenty of time to think about actually meeting
my father for the first time and was now completely freaking out.

I
trailed after Sebastian as he led the way to the diner, the sound of my
thumping heart obnoxiously loud in my ears. I ran a hand through my hair, for
the first time worried that I might not measure up to my father’s expectations.
All the times I’d wondered about him, I’d never really considered that he might
be equally curious about me, his own flesh and blood.

Sebastian
held the door for me and we entered into the incessant noise of utensils
scraping against plates, and the warm and homey smell of eggs and sizzling bacon.
Fry cooks called out orders as harried waitresses buzzed by balancing loaded
trays on their outstretched arms. Sebastian rounded a corner, seeming to know
exactly where he was going.

Up
ahead I saw the back of a man’s head, dark and gleaming, even under the
fluorescent lights of the cafe. I faltered, suddenly unsure I could truly go through
with this.

As
though sensing my unvoiced doubts, Sebastian reached for my hand. He drew it
into the crook of his elbow, securing it in place with the firm grip of his other
hand. Whether it was to stop my shaking, or simply to keep me from turning and
running away in the other direction, I didn’t know.

“Lucas,”
Sebastian called out in his deep baritone. The other man’s shoulders tensed
briefly before he rose from the booth, liquid and lovely as water, and turned
slowly to face me.

My
first thought was that I couldn’t believe this moment was happening. All my
life my father had been nothing more than a figment of my imagination. My
mother never talked about him—whether to preserve him in her own mind, or because
she didn’t know what to say to me. And while tragedy had taken my mother from
me, circumstance, or maybe fate, had given me back my father. I wiped my hands
on my jeans, realizing how nervous I was and scared that this meeting might very
well end in disaster.

The man
standing before me was tall and muscular—that much I could see—with a straight
nose and prominent cheekbones. His jet black hair was swept back off his
forehead and brushed the collar of his leather coat, and he stared at me
through a pair of almost translucent brown eyes that were the same warm copper
color as his skin. His lips parted as if to say something, but then closed
again. The Adam’s apple in his throat bobbed as he swallowed and then, very
carefully, he reached out and cupped my cheek.