Page 47 of The Seeker
“Is she the reason you can influence other’s thoughts?” Rhys asked quietly. “Even those with angelic blood?”
She glanced at him nervously. She hadn’t intended to let that ability slip. “It’s not a popular power. I don’t use it often.”
“Except on Grigori,” he said. “And anyone who gets too close.” He cleared his throat. “Like, perhaps, scribes who innocently offer to walk you home at night?”
She looked at him from the corner of her eye. He appeared to be more amused than put out. “Point taken.”
“At least tell me I’m not an easy mark.”
“You?” She glanced over. “No, you have very good natural shields and a strong mind.”
“Which you won’t test again, because you won’t be manipulating my mind. Ever.” Rhys narrowed his eyes when he spotted the old house that marked the haven boundary. “What is that?”
“Just an old house. An old man lives there with his dog. Likes to fish.”
“Are you sure?”
“Scribes are so suspicious.” Meera spotted a palmetto tree that marked the beginning of the haven grounds. “We’re almost there.”
“Meera, that wasn’t an— Oh heaven above.” Rhys nearly doubled over as Meera began to sing.
She opened her mouth and let her magic fill the car, shielding Rhys as much as she could from the brutal supernatural fences her mother had erected around the haven.
“I’m almost afraid to meet your mother,” Rhys forced through gritted teeth, “if this is a taste of her magic.”
“She’s very good,” Meera said. “For a pacifist, I do not come from peaceable people.”
“Do you take after your father?” Rhys grunted and put his head in his hands. “Headache.”
Meera sang louder, weaving the magic around Rhys until she saw his shoulders relax. They were turning into the oak alley of the haven grounds. “Look up, Rhys. If you can.”
He looked up and she saw the wonder even through the pain. The twisted, towering oaks rose on either side of them, gnarled guardians of the old Creole home. Bright blue and red trim made the yellow house glow in the diffused light of the morning, and birds called from every side.
“Welcome to Havre Hélène.”
The wards eased off as soon as they passed the second oak, and Rhys sat back and rolled his window down. The cool morning air filled the car, suffused with the scent of jasmine and rich earth. It was long before cane harvest season, so Meera suspected they were turning the kitchen garden.
“Beautiful,” Rhys said. “Not at all what I was expecting from a Southern plantation.”
“Be careful with those expectations. This is Creole Louisiana. It’s guaranteed to confound you.”
Meera parked around backand immediately walked to Sabine’s cottage where she could hear a ruckus. A window was broken and two silk-upholstered Louis XV chairs lay in the front garden. Her father was picking them up as Meera approached.
Maarut frowned. “I thought you were bringing the scribe?”
Meera stopped and looked over her shoulder, only to see Rhys in the distance, examining the current construction project behind the main house. Her parents were reconstructing the outdoor kitchen to be used communally.
“Rhys!” she called. “Be curious later.”
“You know,” Maarut said, “I thought he was like you, but I underestimated how right your mother would be. Don’t tell her I said that.”
“It shall never pass my lips.” She squinted up at her father. “What do you mean, how right Mother would be?”
Maarut’s face went blank. “Just that Sari and your mother thought the two of you would work well as… research partners.”
Meera’s eyes narrowed. She was sensing a hidden agenda. “Father.”
“Yes?”
