Unleashed: The Deepest Fears Lie Within (Secrets of the Makai) (6 page)

“If it needs explaining, I have failed yet again.”

“It’s not a failure. I just don’t see it.”

“Hmmm. You probably prefer the realistic styles that could pass as a photograph.”

Tristan took another sip to hide his shock. He’d spent countless hours perfecting the grain of wood, the texture of rope, shadows and highlights with a sharp pencil.... But rarely in color and never abstract.

If he tried dating the ships he used to doodle in class, what century would they have been from? A chill ran through his shoulders. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Tell me about yourself these days. How have you managed so far?”

Tristan frowned. The woman definitely ranked in the top five strangest people he’d ever met. “I’ve done okay, considering.”

“Considering what?”

Tristan shrugged. “Everything.” He leaned back to consider the endless universe, feeling the warm buzz of wine, then told her his life story, careful to leave out any mention of dragon ancestry and certain parts of Ireland. “…So basically, I’m a psychopathic teenager on the run.”

She nodded, as she had through most of his whining, and refilled his glass for the third time. “You’re probably right.”

“How can you say that? My mother’s drug issues were never my fault, and I’m sure any child would wish his dad was around. There’re probably hundreds of people who can hear people’s thoughts, and y’all probably know how to not let it drive you insane. How was I supposed to know you all band together in the middle of nowhere? If I hadn’t been in the wrong place at the wrong time, I never would have known you people exist.” Tristan stopped, finding her smile suspicious and maddening until something else dawned on him. “You didn’t know about me until I got messed up with Gwenna.”

She raised her glass to him. “The ways of the universe are strange indeed. People rarely understand and accept it.”

“I never said I understand or accept it.”

Her soft laughter faded as she looked thoughtfully at her painting. “People will believe anything that validates what they think is true. I’ve seen near everything as a gypsy outcast, socially unacceptable and too old to give a hoot. Who wants to work at getting along with others when life is so short?”

“Here, here,” Tristan whispered, raising his glass in cheers for a toast. He saddened though, thinking of Gram. “You’re not dying, are you? We’ve only just met.”

“Life doesn’t begin and end like that. Do you believe in ghosts?”

“No.” Tristan reconsidered his answer. “Maybe. Enough people do, and ghost stories might’ve been based on something real, at some point in time.” Tristan watched the flames, debating the existence of Heaven and Hell, and who had dibs on his soul after the events in Ireland. “I don’t know what to believe these days. I don’t even know what month this is.” He could hear his words slurring and found the statement funny. “I haven’t known the time of day for several months at least.”

He shielded his eyes from the firelight with his hand and peered up at the stars to judge the season. It seemed like such a natural thing to do and his mouth gaped farther as he realized he was identifying several constellations and calculating a calendar in his head.

He shut his eyes, trying to decipher the fleeting thoughts. The wine, Eleonora, the cabin, the poncho, the case of art supplies…. He’d never seen them before, yet, he knew them well. Part of him felt proud and relieved, the other wondered how he could keep himself in denial without making a complete fool of himself.

Eleonora’s laughter drew him out of his confused state and he smiled gratefully.

“Poor Jacques.” She laughed again. “You’ve probably been fighting him tooth and nail, every step of the way.”

“How do you know?” Tristan tried to pay attention, tired of tangled philosophical conversations. He looked at his wine glass, thankful to see it empty. Good thing there was no chance of driving anywhere.

“We were friends, in a way. It’s hard to explain. William had an open mind for Jacques, and I was able to get to know the spirit through that connection. Communication was difficult to say the least, and people thought we were quite strange, but William was a good sport about letting me probe around in his head.

“I believe Jacques was forbidden to talk to me, and perhaps got caught, but we did have some marvelous adventures.”

“Caught by who?”

“The spirit council, I suppose. He warned me that he’d likely be pulled from William, and I promised I’d keep this stuff and pass the case on to the next person with....”

Tristan waited, unsure if he was supposed to be able to finish her sentence. “With what?”

“The next person with dragon blood.”

“Why does everyone think that?” Tristan rolled his eyes and shook his head. “So, was he pulled?”

“The night I made my promise, William died in his sleep.”

“Oh.” Tristan envisioned intertwined spirits being ripped apart and felt the urge to run and hide. “I’m sorry. But, um, didn’t you say this Jacques spirit is with me now?” Maybe she only implied such a thing.

The woman nodded, almost imperceptibly. “Jacques and someone new. But you needn’t worry.”

“I have two ghosts haunting me?” The idea made it seem even less realistic. How gullible should he be?

“Jacques is very much a part of you. He’s probably been with you since birth. But this other man...he’s new.”

Tristan stared unblinking. Was he in paranormal danger or not? Did he miss the punch-line somewhere?

“Jacques was always a rebel, but he won’t hurt you. He clearly doesn’t have the same connection with you as he did with William, or he’d be training you himself by now.”

Tristan wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or insulted, but he wasn’t about to let himself be possessed by someone. Or some
thing
. Though he obviously needed the training. He diverted the conversation to something safer. “Tell me about your painting.”

“Tell me about Ireland,” she said, with equal determination.

He gripped the soft leather pouch hanging from around his neck and held his breath. The pouch contained Cyanea coral and he’d been instructed to keep it with him at all times. But he’d taken the necklace off in Ireland and wrapped it around the falcon’s neck as a sort of SOS message for Oliver and Gram, sending the bird to Dorian’s island.

Landon and Victor gave it back.

“They got me out—” An onslaught of depression strangled his lungs. He counted stars for several silent minutes, burying all astronomy knowledge as deep as he could, along with the threat of tears. Was astronomy part of Jacques’ influence? “They’re really great people, Landon and Victor.”

“They have their moments.” She didn’t sound happy or sad about it.

“Fine. I managed to kill several people in Ireland. I’m surprised I didn’t kill Landon or Victor by mistake, it was so dark.” Tristan stared into the flames, reminded of the forest fire that no one else could see. He hadn’t meant to ever tell anyone and clenched his jaw, waiting for her to list all the options he should have tried, had he seen any at the time.

“Isn’t it a pity how Victor has changed everything around here?”

Every tense muscle relaxed the instant he exhaled the breath he’d been holding. “He’s incredible.”

“There’s just something to be said about washing your clothing by hand. I personally refuse to take part with most of his gadgetries.”

“Why?” The sound of his own curious laughter caught him off guard. How much wine had he consumed? “I had to wash clothes by hand all summer and it’s not enjoyable at all. So if Victor has some gadget to make it easy, then cheers to him!” Tristan held up his glass, forgetting it was empty. She filled it.

“Easy isn’t the point,” Eleonora said in a stern voice. “It’s the principle. Landon understands.”

“Landon washes his clothes by hand?”

“No, I’m sure he uses that hybrid contraption thing just like everyone else.”

“How is it any different than using a regular washing machine?”

“Exactly. I object to those, too.”

“I don’t plan to wash my clothes by hand if I don’t have to, just so you know. I need easy. Easy is good.”

“The sooner you let go of what you think you know, the easier everything will be.”

“That won’t be hard.” Tristan’s grin faltered, attempting to avoid the seriousness of her tone. “I don’t even know how to ride a bicycle.”

“Who needs to? It’s just another way to fall and hurt yourself.”

“Kids are supposed to fall and hurt themselves.” Tristan noticed another opened bottle of wine on the table. “You don’t have a problem using magic. All this stuff keeps appearing and disappearing. How can you trust what’s real and what isn’t?”

“I wouldn’t call it magic and you’ll get used to it.”

“That’s what Landon says, but I don’t think I can.”

“You’ll do fine.”

“You should get out more,” Tristan said, settling back in his chair. “Did you know you have a reputation?”

“Is that so?” She refilled the glasses.

“Seems you have a temper and don’t like people, and maybe you’ll kick me out and they’ll build me a house somewhere else.”

“But you know better.”

Tristan tried to focus on the painting, embarrassed by the fact that he didn’t recognize or remember her, yet she seemed so sure they knew each other. Maybe there really was some guy named Jacques? “Where do the deer fit in?”

Eleonora shook her head. “Can’t you give an old woman credit for trying?”

“Yes. I don’t know how to say it, but it definitely holds my attention.” Or maybe it was a soothing escape from the topics he’d need to face sooner or later. “I should call Landon and Victor and tell them where I am.” Tristan laughed at himself. “But you guys don’t have phones, do you? And no electricity!”

“Oh, yes, please! Put a cell phone tower right over there.” She pointed into the darkness and laughed again. “Then string all our houses together with electrical cables.” After another good laugh, her joking subsided. “They haven’t explained all that?”

“I don’t know, maybe.” Tristan shrugged. “There hasn’t been time to explain everything, but I’m sure they will.”

“Don’t you want to ask about Donovan?”

“Can you hear my thoughts?”

“Are you accusing me?”

“No. But you seem to know…so I wondered if I should be practicing more. Sorry for asking.”

“It’s like spying through a person’s window, some just can’t resist. But around here, I think you’re pretty safe.”

Tristan nodded, thankful that he hadn’t offended her.

“Regarding Donovan, I’ve tried getting to know him, I really have. I even asked to be in one of his classes.” She took a deep breath and her smile faded. “I’m sorry. He’s as beautiful as he ever was, but with that mountain façade, he’s impossible to talk to.”

Tristan nodded his agreement, then shook his head. How would he know?

Eleonora stood faster than he could follow, setting her glass aside and peering into the darkness. Her expression turned so blank, he barely recognized her.

Tristan followed her line of vision, squinting to see beyond the brightness of the fire. “Is someone out there?”

He grinned as Landon and Victor appeared within reach of the firelight. “Hey!” He chuckled at almost losing his balance when he stood to greet them and couldn’t wait to explain how wrong they were about Eleonora. He hadn’t laughed so much in years!

But she remained silent with a stony expression that seemed so wrong.

“What’s going on?” Landon asked, eyeing the empty wine bottles and plate of crumbs.

“We were just….” Tristan motioned toward the easel and had to keep himself from falling face-first into the fire. “Just discussing this masterpiece. It’s a—” He still didn’t know and squelched a fit of giggles. Why did everything seem so funny? He turned to Eleonora, who didn’t seem too amused at all.

“You got him drunk?” Landon shouted, not even glancing at the artwork.

“No!” Tristan interrupted. “This was all my doing.” He reached for his chair and sat down. “I swear! It was even my wine.” Or was it Jacques’? William’s?

“You know his background.”

“He could start experimenting,” added Landon, talking over Victor. “He needs to learn control before…this.”

“Actually, what if I don’t want to learn? Seriously. How can I control what I have no concept of? This is your lifestyle, not mine.”

Landon stared with obvious...something. Horror maybe, then turned his anger back on Eleonora. “How could you do this?” The veins in his temples pulsed furiously. “He’s never had a drink in his life!”

“True.” Tristan picked up the original bottle and squinted at the label. “But 1869 was an extremely fine year.”

Eleonora cracked a smile at that, then turned to face her painting.

“How would you know if I never had a drink or not?” Tristan asked Landon, finally comprehending the words.

The painting and easel disappeared, distracting him from waiting for the answer.

Eleonora looked down at Tristan with her hands folded in her sleeves, her face softening. “I’m sorry, but it’s been a pleasure.”