The Splendour Falls (48 page)

‘Because it is,' he said, jaw tightening. ‘Most of the time. But on the one-in-a-thousand chance that someone might stumble on something real, I'm going to say nonsense. Can you imagine how out of balance the world would be if every neo-druid crystal hugger who read something on the Internet started trying to do magic with rocks and twigs? Chaos.'

He'd alluded to that in the woods, and I hadn't pursued it. ‘I don't understand what you mean by “out of balance”.'

‘Good and bad things happen, and there's a sort of equilibrium to it. We're not really meant to mess
with it.' He still held my hand, and I noticed he was rubbing his thumb along mine in an agitated sort of way.

‘What about …' I nodded towards the people praying in the corner.

Rhys smiled slightly. ‘Not the same thing, as far as I can tell. The universe – or whatever – keeps things balanced according to criteria we can't wrap our heads around. It's when you muck about with it in a big way that bad things happen.'

‘Like mine collapses,' I guessed.

The muscle in his jaw jumped, and then he sighed in admission. ‘Yes, exactly.'

I stared at his profile, wondering what that tension had to do with his taking it on himself to correct what Shawn was doing. All on his own. That was either quixotic as hell, or crazier than I ever thought of being.

‘Why did you break into the office at Maddox Point?' I asked.

He grimaced, looking more sheepish than guilty. ‘I knew they'd have a decent map, maybe satellite pictures of the area. It was a bit of a ditch effort, really.'

‘For what?' Then insight flashed – he had already admitted to looking for more bluestone. ‘Are you searching for another standing stone in the woods?'

His scowl lacked his usual edge. ‘You have gotten very nosy for a girl who didn't even ask where she was going when she got on the plane from New York.'

I ignored that, refusing to be drawn off course. ‘Here's my theory,' I said, lowering my voice. ‘There's something about my rock in the garden. You said in
the woods – there's magic in that place. Maybe it's one of those ley lines or something.'

He glanced warily at a stodgy-looking couple who seemed to be taking a lot of interest in our whispers. ‘Maybe.'

‘You're not just hunting for any old rock. You're looking for another power spot.'

With clear reluctance, he admitted, ‘If Shawn has his circle, then a powerful position might even things up.'

Unaccountably furious with this
insane
idea, I leaned forward and hissed, ‘Why? So you can get into a battle of magical one-upmanship? Do you want to
die
in the next car accident? Or maybe you want to prove yourself his equal in being completely conscienceless when it comes to what you think is right!'

My voice had risen at the end, to the point where the stodgy old couple stared in disapproval and the prayer circle was probably now praying for me. But the only thing that hurt worse than the thought of Rhys turning into Shawn was the thought of Rhys dead.

He choked back a retort and glanced in frustration at our audience. With an impatient sound, he pulled me out of the waiting room and into the empty hallway. ‘Do not,' he said in a harsh, quiet voice, ‘compare me to Shawn. He doesn't care about the consequences of his actions. I do.'

There was anger in his tone, and in the flush on his face. But there was also hurt, and beneath that the guilt I hadn't been able to get at yet.

‘I believe you, Rhys.' I kept a tight clasp on his
hand, wanting to hold onto this new partnership. ‘I can't even say
why
I trust you, except that you're such a bad liar and apparently not much of a burglar, either.'

He laughed softly, embarrassed but not offended. ‘It's not my strong suit, no.'

‘Why do I feel, ever since we first met, that I know you, that I'm connected to you somehow? This is crazy.'

‘I don't know, love.' His gaze dropped, lingered on our entwined fingers as he traced the lines of my palm with his thumb. ‘The world is full of patterns that repeat, and they're particularly alive there in your bend in the river. Maybe we've been pulled into the pattern.' I shivered, an electric thrill running up my arm and all through me, the way it had when we'd first touched in the airport. But this caress was deliberate, and the easy intimacy of his touch was thrilling and new. I didn't – couldn't – keep that from my face when he lifted his eyes to meet mine. ‘Just believe that I care about what happens to you.'

While I still struggled to form words, he glanced into the waiting room, and released my hand. ‘There's Paula and the doctor. Go talk to her while I ring my dad.'

Anxiety returned in a rush as I wove through the maze of plastic chairs and attached tables. But I could see from my cousin's weary relief that the news wasn't as bad as it could be. The tall, dark-skinned doctor by her side confirmed it. Clara had cracked several ribs, dislocated her shoulder and broken her hip.

Paula gave a tired laugh. ‘You should hear her.
She's mad as hell. Only old women break their hips, she says.'

‘From the bruises,' said the doctor wryly, ‘it's lucky she didn't break her neck.'

On this sobering note, he took his leave as the Griffiths reentered the waiting room. Paula gave them the recap and told us we could go home. ‘Addie and I will follow shortly.'

‘Are you sure?' asked Professor Griffith in concern.

‘Yes.' She drew herself up, moving towards steel magnolia mode, but not quite reaching it. ‘You've already done so much. Thank you, both. You feel more like family than guests.'

‘That's how we feel as well.' He rather gallantly leaned down and kissed her cheek. ‘If you promise to be careful on the road, then I will take these two youngsters home and we'll all get some rest.'

Rhys didn't make a face at the word ‘youngster', but I did. Then I sent my love to Clara, and dragged myself out after the Griffiths. Adrenaline had run its course and left me drained. Father and son chatted quietly as we crossed the parking lot, and when we got to their rental car, I crawled into the back seat, and was asleep before the engine even turned over.

I
woke late, to a very cloudy day.

Gigi was still curled in the crook behind my knees; there wasn't enough sunlight to wake her. What filtered in through the deep casement looked watery and grey.

‘It's time to get up, Gee.'

Her answer was a grumbling growl. She moved to the warm spot on the pillow, in the curve of my neck, and went back to sleep. I couldn't help but think she had the right idea.

The ringing of my cell phone jolted me out of a complacent doze. After a stumbling search, I found my
jeans in a heap on the floor and dug the phone out of the pocket.

‘Hey, John.'

‘Are you still asleep?' he asked. ‘What time is it there?'

‘Uh …' I had no idea. It couldn't be too late, or Gigi would have demanded a walk by now. ‘We had a really long night. My cousin's business partner and friend had a horrible fall. We were at the hospital.'

‘That's awful! Is she going to be all right?'

‘She broke her hip. But it could have been a lot worse.' I sat on the bed and tried to get my thoughts together. Gigi rearranged herself on the centre of the pillow, figuring I wasn't coming back. ‘Are you calling to check up on me?'

‘Sort of. There are all kinds of torrential rains on the news. I just wanted to make sure you weren't getting washed away.'

I glanced at the window. ‘It's not raining here, but it looks like it might be somewhere close.'

‘You could turn on the news. There
is
television out in the sticks, right?'

A knock on the door prevented my answering that in the way it deserved. ‘Hang on,' I told John, and stumbled to the door. I was wearing a T-shirt that said
BALLET DANCERS SPEND ALL DAY AT THE BARRE
. The shirt covered everything important, but I stood behind the door when I opened it, anyway.

Rhys was in the hall, pulling on a rain slicker and looking distracted. ‘Hey.'

‘Hi.' The phone was still in my hand, and I
wondered if I should push Mute. But despite a softening of his gaze when he first saw me, Rhys was all business.

‘You need to get downstairs. It's raining bloody hell upriver, and they're worried about flooding. Paula and Addie are packing bags before they go to the hospital, in case they get stranded. Dad is going into town to make sure the larder is stocked up, and I'm headed out to Cahawba. They'll need help sandbagging the excavation.'

A spark of worry made me forget about the phone, my stepbrother and my half-dressed state. ‘Is it dangerous?'

‘You'll be safe here,' he assured me. ‘The mansion is on high ground. It's stood through floods before. Just stay up near the house.'

‘I mean, will you be safe out at Old Cahawba?' Anxiously, I stepped out from behind the door. ‘It's been washed out twice.'

‘I'll be fine.' He smiled, in a warm way that made my insides knot. ‘But you could give me a kiss for luck if you want.'

I was actually a little afraid of how much I wanted to, which was the only thing that kept me where I was. That and worry I might have morning breath.

And, oh yeah, my stepbrother on the phone. I pointed to the cell and said, ‘I have a chaperone.'

‘In that case, get a move on, love.' There was still a trace of humour in his back-to-business tone. ‘Get dressed and get downstairs. There's work to be done.'

He headed down the hall, and I shut the door, marvelling at how much things had changed in a night.
Then I spoke into the phone, ‘I know you heard all that.'

‘I don't even know where to begin,' said John. ‘What is going on there? Who is that guy?'

Cradling the phone against my shoulder, I grabbed my jeans and pulled them on. ‘You haven't known me nearly long enough to go all protective big brother on me, John.'

‘Who else is going to? Sylvie, please tell me you're not getting involved with someone while you're in a … a—'

‘A what?' I snapped. ‘A third-world country? Or are you talking about my fragile mental state?'

‘Come on, Sylvie.'

I sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. ‘I'm not involved. Exactly. I'm not sure what you'd call it. But trust me when I say that if I was, it would be the least weird thing going on.'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘Gotta run, John. I'll catch you up later. God willing and the creek don't rise.'

‘Oh my God. You've gone native.'

‘Bye, John.' I hung up, slipped on a pair of shoes, grabbed my sleepy dog and then headed downstairs. Rhys was right. If the waters were rising, there were things that needed to be done. I hoped somebody would tell me what they were, or I'd be no help at all.

Paula wanted me to go with her and Addie, but I assured her I would be fine in the house. It wasn't as if
I'd be alone – the Griffiths would be back – and if the waters did rise, someone – a Davis – should be here to monitor, handle it or call the authorities. That was the argument that swayed her, but I was stunned how strongly I felt that I shouldn't leave Bluestone Hill with the uncertainty of the rains upriver.

Paula and Addie pulled out in the Mom Mobile, accompanied by the distant roll of thunder. Overhead the sky was uniformly grey and dismal, but nonthreatening. As I stood on the porch watching the taillights of the wagon, Professor Griffith joined me, shrugging into his rain jacket.

‘The water is still hot in the kettle if you want to make yourself a cup of tea,' he said. ‘Is there anything in particular you want from the market? Bearing in mind I'll have to take what I can get.'

‘You probably won't have any competition for the soy milk.'

‘True.' He took a step down, then glanced back at me in careful study. ‘You'll be all right while I'm gone? You can call my mobile if you need to. Or Rhys's – he trekked over to the dig site on foot, but he can get back in a trice if you need him.'

I hid my nervousness with sarcasm. ‘I realize that an apartment in a city of eight million people hasn't prepared me for staying in a big country house by myself, but I think I can manage. It's not even raining.'

He glanced at the sky. ‘It's not the rain here that's the problem. It's all the storms upriver. The water has to go somewhere.'

On that cheerful note, he left in the rental, and for
the first time since I came to Alabama, I was alone in the house. Technically speaking.

Before, when I needed to regroup, to think, or most important to
not
think, I headed to the ballet barre. The repetitive pattern of the exercises, the concentration on placement, extension, turnout and pointe were a physical mantra to clear my brain whenever it was too full.