Page 119 of Brambles and Bellflowers
The sense of foreboding that had all but vanished since yesterday returned ten-fold.
“What’s that?” I asked distractedly, glancing toward the door—the room was modestly sized, but now my escape seemed impossibly far. She was acting very strange, and I still wasn’t sure if I trusted her.
What would possess Miles to leave me someone I’d only just met? He didn’t even know her very well, for that matter. While she might have played an important role in our world at some point, she was now a hermit.
People did strange things when they lived without human contact. Hadn’t Miles ever watchedCastaway?
“Stop fidgeting,” Kathleen said, pointing a dripping wooden spoon in my direction without looking up. “That worried expression of yours is contagious. You’re even makingmenervous, and I need a clear head for this. These are the final moments.” Then she returned to stirring her potion.
I bit my lip, my heartbeat picking up. How could she know what I was thinking?
What was she working on, anyway? Whatever it was smelled sickly sweet—like caramel left to burn.
It reminded me of fairytales. Specifically, the kind with suspicious grandmothers and hot ovens.
I was starting to grow fond of Kathleen. But I hadn’t ruled anything out.
But what to do? We’d talked about quintets, my biological mother, even my adoptive parents. But never her team.
“Can you tell me about your quintet?” I asked, the question slipping out before I could second-guess it.The rising heat inmy face had nothing to do with the heavy, warm air trapped in Kathleen’s cabin.
The query shocked her, too—she’d paused briefly before slowly lowering the lid and gazing at me.
“My quintet?” she asked, gray brows lifting and eyes darkening with memories.
“Yes…” I pulled at the hem of my shirt and twisted a fraying edge between my pointer finger and thumb. “Do you all get along?”
Her gaze traveled over me for a moment, lips pursing in thought. For a long second, I wondered if she understood what I meant. Then she sighed, setting the spoon on the table beside her project. “No,” she said, wiping her hands on her skirts. “Not all of us. You have different personalities being forced to work together, and sometimes individuals might never agree. In my quintet, Blake and Gregory don’t like each other.”
Dr. Stephens? Well, it was true that he was very unagreeable, but who was Blake?
“Who is in your quintet?”
“Blake MacClure is our shifter—a werewolf. He’s in charge of the werewolves in this part of the country. Then Gregory,” she answered, her attention wandering toward the window. “And me, and Joseph Kohler—he’s Julian’s grandfather. Joe likes causing calamity.”
“That’s four,” I whispered, nodding. I’d already met Detective Kohler, but he’d seemed the serious sort.
“We’re the only ones left,” she said shortly. “Michael Abernathy was our onmyoji. He held us together and kept Gregory and Blake in line, but he’s been gone for a long time.”
“Gone?”
She didn’t elaborate. Instead, she loosened the tie around her hair, and waves of gray fell over her shoulders and down her arms as the shadows in the room began to lengthen.
“For my part, I was friends with my quintet. I was closest to Gregory, in particular. And they, in turn, respected my need for privacy.” She leaned more heavily on the table, and it almost seemed she was out of breath. “But, from the beginning, I never wanted to be an officer—let alone an Er Bashou. Being an Elder is a huge responsibility. But I had no choice but to join. I’d lost a bet against the fae.”
I blinked at her—I’d leaned forward without realizing. Once I’d caught myself, I fisted my hands at my side.
She was fine. She didn’t need help. She’d ask, right?
Guilt and anxiety twisted in my stomach, and a line of sweat began to drip down my spine. If I were a more caring person, I’d have no trouble rushing to her and offering my aid. But old people and I had never seen eye to eye—their blanket of authority was hard to ignore, and my nerves could never handle it.
Or maybe I was just a coward. But doing the wrong thing was better than doing nothing, right? I couldn’thurther.
I was never serious about shoving her into the fire.
Kathleen continued to move over the potion, and I watched, heart in my throat, as the beginnings of the moon began to peek around the edge of the window. Darkness came on quickly these days—or maybe that was my anxiety.
“Um…” I began—it was so hot, and I began to pull at the neck of my shirt. I returned my attention to her, trying to bury the growing dread. Had it become that late?
