Page 97 of Awry
Cayley nods, then leaves.I can feel her life force all the way to the Corvette and then along the driveway.As she turns onto the road, I have an inkling that I could trace her thread even farther if I wished, but I pull back into myself, because that reach is overwhelming right now.On the property?I can justify it to myself.Off?That’s too much.
I’ve held the essence of the Conduit for only three weeks, and the anchor of the intersection point for just over twelve hours.It’s all too much if I stop and think about it.
I finish the dregs of the melting ice cream, not really tasting it.Then I rinse the tub and put it in the upper rack of the dishwasher, even though I know it should be hand washed.
I rebel in my own little ways.
As I make my way through the dark house and up to my bed, I text Presh back.
I’ll see you this afternoon, Precious.
In the bedroom, I pull the heavy curtains against the early dawn, ignoring the items on the windowsill.Somewhat inexplicably, I take my phone to bed with me.Normally, I just leave it wherever I last used it.
Is it the connections I’ve just inadvertently forged that make it more comforting to keep it with me?
I stare up at the dark ceiling.My aunt and I never spoke about the others in her life … her chosen.But why didn’t we speak about them?Why weren’t they part of my life as well?Why was I all but banished from the estate, without actually realizing that was what was going on?
And why, when we traveled together, trained together, followed knowings together— why didn’t my aunt’s fucking combat mage come with us?
My phone buzzes in my hand, the screen lighting up the room as a text message comes in.From Precious.
>Rought is making me hash browns and scrambled eggs.With cheese!Yum!Then he needs a nap before he drives me over.
I wouldn’t mind someone cooking breakfast at dawn for me, but I’m not jealous.Rather, I’m oddly pleased.Comforted?
I’m moody as fuck.I seriously need to sleep.
I send a drooling emoji back to Presh.Then a yawning face.She instantly texts back a series of symbols that my blurry mind can’t handle trying to translate.I set the phone on my bedside table, then curl on my side to fall asleep, thinking of cheesy scrambled eggs and potatoes.And wondering whether Rought, the hacker who messed with my phone, was the brother who slept in the second bed in the motel.
Sleeping isn’t conducive to guard duty, though.So why?Why sleep next to me?To an awry of my power?
And … is this something else — someone else — I forgot?
Ten
I’mup again after only two hours of sleep, dragging my feet even while still feeling like I’m not wholly occupying my own body yet.If it’s possible to be anchored firmly yet still feel a breath away from floating away, then that’s what I am.
I ignore it as I head back to the family plot in the daylight.
I’m only steps away from the house when I realize I can suddenly sense the far borders of the property, the presence of what feels like every animal on it, and Muta’s exact location.I try to smother that impression, to focus on the immediate, but I’m only partially successful.
Mysteries abound on the estate, and I’m not certain I have enough information to even hazard a guess at solving them.But when I reach the mausoleum, I can see by the light of day what I couldn’t last night.
I can see what Mack was digging up when he dropped dead.
My aunt’s chosen has been removed from the area, but the site where he fell looks otherwise undisturbed.That makes it clear where the shifter was working around the back of the marble mausoleum.A large marble urn has been shifted out of place to make room for his excavation.
After retrieving the shovel where Rath left it against the fence, it takes only a few minutes of additional digging to reveal a sealed niche set into the far bottom corner of the mausoleum foundation.Formerly hidden just beneath the ground.
Nothing is carved into the stone, but the idea that I’m about to disturb an interment bothers me.I’m glad that a bit of sunlight is filtering in through the partial cloud, warming my face a little as I stand there indecisively.
Then I remember my aunt’s note with the ice cream machine, and the preemptive apology about everything I’m about to find out.So I scrape along all four edges of the sealed niche, digging out dirt and whatever mortar was originally used to seal the front-facing piece, until I can shove the tip of the shovel firmly into the space I’ve created.
I put a bit of weight onto the handle of the shovel, for leverage.
The front of the niche pops open a few inches, detaching cleanly from the marble on either side.No cracks or crumbling.That feels fortunate to the point of being just short of miraculous.
Or it might mean that I’m meant to access whatever is hidden here.
