Page 43 of Dark Rebel's Mystery

Margo cleared her throat. "I have a great idea for all of us to get closer. A spiritual retreat at Safe Haven, which is located on the beautiful Oregon Coast. Perfect Match sponsors it, and we can get free passes for all six of us."

Their father's eyebrows rose. "A spiritual retreat? We are not hippies, Margo." He chuckled. "Your grannie would have lovedit, though, bless her soul. But we were born in a different generation."

"It's just a relaxing vacation," Margo said. "They have one-week programs and two-week programs. I can book us for the one week. Just walking on the beach there is a treat. Some yoga, some mindfulness, and gourmet meals prepared by a famous chef. We are going to have so much fun together."

"I don't think so," their mother said. "If you offered us a cruise, I would have considered that. But a spiritual retreat is really not my cup of tea."

Negal leaned forward and looked into their mother's eyes. "You are going to love every moment of it. You will find it transformative," he said in a tone that was as smooth as polished marble.

Was he thralling their parents?

As silence stretched over the table and both his parents stared into Negal's eyes, Rob exchanged glances with Margo and nodded.

They both watched as their mother's expression changed from doubtful to suddenly excited. "It sounds wonderful!" she declared, hands clasping in sudden enthusiasm. "When can we go?"

Rob exhaled, the tension in his shoulders lessening. Strictly speaking, the clan frowned on frivolous use of thralling—manipulating human emotions or decisions with supernatural influence—but given the circumstances, Negal had made a good call.

It was a good thing that the god didn't have to strictly abide by the clan's rules. He wasn't one of Annani's descendants, and although he was a guest in the village and his loyalty was expected, he was freer to do as he pleased than most of the other residents.

Margo clapped her hands. "As soon as I can get us in. The retreats always start on a Saturday, so I can probably reserve spots for next week. I don't think the place is as packed in the winter as it is during the summer months."

"Perfect," their mother said, a wide smile still plastered on her face. Her eager tone was a little unsettling. "Your father and I can't wait to spend a whole week with our children and their significant others."

Under the table, Gertrude gave Rob's hand a reassuring squeeze, and he shot her a relieved glance. Phase one of convincing their parents to come to Safe Haven was done. Now they just needed to find a way to break the news to his mother that she could become immortal and the method by which it could be done. That was the more difficult step, and he was happy to leave it all to Margo.

As the waiter approached with menus, his father cleared his throat. "So, Gertrude," he said, tugging at his tie. "Would you mind telling us more about your work? I'm curious how you ended up working for Perfect Match."

As Gertrude launched into a mostly fabricated story, and his mother continued to nod along with a serenity that was clearly thrall-induced, Margo and Negal shared an amused look.

It was a temporary fix, but it would keep dinner civil.

28

KYRA

The freezing early morning air prickled Kyra's skin as she approached the compound. Months ago, her team had planted a maid in there, and today, Kyra was going to take her place.

Parisa had Kyra's coloring and size, and in a society where women were second-class citizens at best, a maid with a mop in hand was invisible.

Kyra didn't move with her usual poise or her confident stride. Instead, she kept her head low, hunched her shoulders, and shuffled her feet. She also kept her expression timid even though only her eyes were visible above the scarf wrapped around the lower part of her face.

Her ID, a slim plastic card with a grainy photograph that could pass as her, sat tucked inside a small cloth pouch at her waist together with a few coins and a string of prayer beads—the tesbîh. She wasn't the praying type, but the beads would add to the submissive, pious image she was trying to portray.

A lone guard stood beneath the compound's archway, and as Kyra drew closer, he adjusted his stance, crossing his arms in a way designed to intimidate. The uniform he wore was crisp, not the sloppy type usually worn by the regular guards she was accustomed to seeing. It seemed that the new commander was keeping everyone on their toes.

"Papers," he demanded.

Kyra offered a timid nod, carefully avoiding direct eye contact. She drew out the ID card. With her general resemblance to Parisa and their similar build, it would be hard to tell that the ID was not hers even if he demanded that she remove her headscarf and show her face, but it was unlikely that he would do that unless he got suspicious.

The key was to project as much timidity as possible, which at the moment wasn't difficult because she was scared.

"Take your scarf off," he said, sending her heart rate into a gallop.

She widened her eyes, conveying her shock at the request.

"You heard me. The new commander is strict." He sounded almost apologetic.

Kyra nodded and, with shaking hands, removed the scarf from her face while looking down at the ground.

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