Awakening (Book One of The Geis) (2 page)

Rourke trained his eyes on the girl. She moved with the grace of most young ballerinas, but her steps were halting, as if she were distracted. Technically the girl was solid, but Rourke could tell that her heart wasn’t in it.

The lizard sat at his feet, his tail curled around Rourke’s cane like a snake. Across the aisle, a girl kept sneaking looks over her tablet at him. Rourke knew she couldn’t see the lizard, and he hated the pity that came when people saw how young he was to struggle with a cane. He stamped his cane on the floor and the girl looked back at the stage.

An emotion slipped through the air to Rourke, like a weak radio signal. He snapped his attention to the dancer. It was there for a moment, a sliver of longing—and then it was gone. Rourke leaned forward, hoping to feel the magic again. It was there, fragile and uncertain, but present.

It had been years—decades—since he had detected the magic from another in this world. He and the lizard mourned together long ago, resigned to the idea that Cliona had killed everyone she suspected of having magic. Rourke was pleased to see that they were mistaken. He rested his hand on the lizard’s back. Now that they had found the girl, everything would change.

I dropped my backpack next to the stairs and followed a sweet, tangy scent into the living room.

“Hi hon,” Mom called. “I’m in the kitchen.”

“Mmmm, what are you making? It smells yummy.” Sliding up to the bar, I eyed the canning bottles filled with amber syrup lined up along the counter. Mom stood next to the stove, her dark brown hair curled with sweat. She wore an apron that read
Lollipop Sweet Shop—
a surprise Dad had screen-printed to celebrate the fifth anniversary of her online candy store.

Mom opened the oven and breathed in the scent of the pies. “I’ve just finished canning these peaches, and the pie is done. How was school?”

“Good.” The smell of the baking pie made my stomach growl. “Can I have a piece of pie?”

“After dinner.” Mom washed a peach and tossed it across the countertop to me. I closed my eyes and savored my first bite of the season’s ripe peaches. I couldn’t wait to taste the pie. Mom rarely made desserts. By the time she’d finished making candies for her store, she was seldom in the mood to make some for us.

“Who’s coming for dinner?”

“Your Aunt Avril.” Mom scrubbed another peach so vigorously the skin split open. Mom’s sister was a world-traveler and didn’t come to see us much. I found her visits fascinating, but they always put my otherwise even-tempered mother on edge. “She’s staying with us until she can find an apartment.”

“That should be interesting.” I instantly regretted the remark when I received a look that said, “Don’t push it”.

The front door slammed and Zoey came barreling into the kitchen, dropping her backpack by the fridge. In her hand was a sloppy mass of wood craft sticks and glue.

“Mom, we made these houses at girl scouts.” Zoey bounced on her toes. “Can I go out back and find stuff to make it a fairy house?”

I snorted. “A fairy house? There’s no such thing as fairies.”

Zoey put her little house behind her back. “Is so. Fairies show up if you believe in them hard enough.”

“Who’s been telling you that?”

“That’s enough, girls.” Mom wiped her hands on her apron before pulling Zoey in for a hug. “Zoey, you can go out for a few minutes, but I want you to get your homework done before dinner.” Zoey darted out the back door.

“Honestly, that child needs a leash.” Mom gave me a smile as she went back to scrubbing peaches.

“Why don’t you tell her that fairies aren’t real? She’s eleven years old, for heaven’s sake.”

“She’s still a little girl. It’s okay for her to pretend.”

“Just because she’s small for her age, doesn’t mean that you have to baby her,” I said. “I didn’t pretend when I was her age.”

Mom laughed. “You didn’t pretend at all. I remember once, when you were little, I tried to show you how a cardboard box could be a boat that would carry you away to a far-off kingdom. You looked up at me with those big brown eyes and said, ‘It’s not a boat, mom, it’s a box’. You’ve always been the practical one.”

Practical didn’t sound like a compliment. I still didn’t think that meant that my parents should let Zoey run as wild as her imagination.

“Whip me up some cream for the pie, would you?” Mom asked, nodding toward the mixer.

I added sugar and vanilla to the cream and absently watched the circles that grew outward from the beaters as it thickened. The beaters hummed and I went over last night’s recital in my mind. I was pleased with my solo, but my mind kept wandering to the other dancing I’d seen. When Taminy pounded the floor, energy rolled off of her. I wanted to feel that energy again. I needed to.

Mom said something. I turned the beaters off. “What?”

“I said if you beat that cream much longer, we’ll have sweet butter instead of whipped cream.” She motioned a glaze-covered spoon toward the stairs. “Benji’s still in his playpen. Will you grab him and tell Dad to get ready for dinner?”

“You outdid yourself again, Maggie,” Dad said between bites of pie.

“Delicious.” Aunt Avril licked cream off of each of her fingers, turning to the empty seat next to her. “Mmmm. I wish you could taste this, Theron.”

Mom acted like she didn’t hear Aunt Avril’s reference to her dead husband. Uncle Theron had died before I was born, but Aunt Avril claimed that he still talked to her.

“That’s the first of the peaches off of our tree.” Mom looked pleased. “I’m glad I picked them today. The weather man said it’s going to get cold tomorrow.”

“Not tomorrow,” Zoey cried. “The sixth grade field trip will be a catastrophe!” Zoey had chattered nonstop since she’d come in from playing. “They better not cancel it. We are going to the trout ranch and I’ve been dying to go.”

“Close your mouth while you’re eating, Squit, it’s grossing me out.” Zoey stuck out her cream-coated tongue at the mention of her nickname. When Zoey was tiny, she couldn’t say her R’s. My nickname for her was Squirt, but when she said it, it sounded like ‘Squit’. I’ve called her that ever since.

Aunt Avril folded her arms on the table and leaned close to Zoey. Ropes of mismatched necklaces loaded with trinkets hung from her neck and clanged against the wood. “Pretty soon it’ll be so cold here it’ll freeze your little ponytails.” Zoey looked devastated.

“I’m sure that you can wear a jacket.” Mom reached over Zoey and placed another piece of pie on Aunt Avril’s plate.

I saw an opening in their conversation and took it. “I searched online and found a school that teaches Irish dance.” Mom looked at me, but continued eating. I tried again. “That’s the kind of dance they were doing last night—Irish dance.”

“At your recital? I don’t remember anything Irish,” Dad answered.

“McKayla saw some dancers performing in the gym in Idaho Falls last night,” Mom said.

“They weren’t exactly performing. It was more like a competition.” A sticky hand grabbed my arm. I spooned a piece of pie into my baby brother’s mouth. “I want to take Irish dance lessons.”

“Me too, I want dance lessons like McKayla.” Zoey always jumped at the chance to do anything, especially if I was allowed to.

“No Zoey, you have enough going on already.” Mom wiped at Benji’s face with a napkin. “It’s not that easy, McKayla. We’re already paying for you to learn tap and ballet. When would you find the time to practice for that many lessons and still keep up with your schoolwork?”

I sighed, knowing she was right. I couldn’t take all of those lessons. But I had to find a way to learn how to dance like those girls in the gym.

“McKayla always gets to do everything,” Zoey pouted.

“I could get up early and practice before school. I’ll help earn the money to pay for it.” I tried not to sound desperate, but my plea ended in a whine.

“Where is this new Irish dance school?” Dad asked.

“In Jackson.” My heart sank as I said it. Jackson was too far away, and I knew it. I held my breath.

“Don’t you have clients in Jackson Hole, William?” Aunt Avril asked, looking from my father’s calm demeanor to my mother’s pinched expression.

“I go out that way once or twice a month to meet clients, but not consistently enough that you could take lessons.” Dad’s words smoothed out the lines on Mom’s face.

“Can’t I try it? If it’s too much, I’ll quit ballet.” The words were out of my mouth before I had a chance to think about it. Mom and Dad both stopped eating to look at me. They knew how much I loved ballet. For years ballet had been my life. Would I really quit ballet to Irish dance? I thought about the way Taminy’s feet had flown through a rhythm on the dance floor. Yes, I would give up ballet to dance like that.

“I’m sorry McKayla. You know that we want you to pursue your dancing, but you can’t jump on every bandwagon that comes to town.” Dad returned to his dessert.

I tried to cover up my disappointment with another bite of pie. It tasted bland. I forced a swallow.

“Speaking of bands, my teacher says that in junior high we will get to play band instruments.” Zoey launched into a discussion of the virtues of the trombone.

“No one cares about your stupid band, Zoey,” I snapped.

“That’s no way to talk to you sister, McKayla,” Dad’s voice grew stern. “Especially when we have company.”

“It’s all right William, you don’t have to tiptoe around me.” Aunt Avril studied me. “You and Zoey remind me of when your mom and I were younger. Your mother didn’t approve of me, even then.”

Mom didn’t say anything, just chased a bite of pie around her plate with a fork.

“So, tell me about this case that’s brought you to Star Valley, Avril.” Dad changed the subject, but I knew he was genuinely interested in Aunt Avril’s work as a psychic investigator. I waited to hear her answer. Aunt Avril’s stories of how she could sense what happened at a crime scene long after the trail had gone cold fascinated me.

Aunt Avril glanced once at my mom, and settled herself into her chair, gathering the folds of her tie-dyed skirt around her like a nesting hen. “I’m not so sure you want to hear the details of this one, William.” She didn’t give him a chance to agree. “I was on vacation, minding my own business and working on my tan.” She paused to let everyone admire her golden glow. “An FBI agent heard of my gift and tracked me down on the beach. I told him to step out of my sun, but he was insistent that I take on a case he’d been trying to solve for months. I was intrigued, of course. And the next thing I knew I was on a plane to Ireland.

“After that, the residuum led me on an adventure to Australia, Tasmania, and then here to the states.” She winked at Zoey. “And since I was in the neighborhood, I decided it was time for a visit.”

“What’s residuum?” Zoey asked, her voice tiny and her eyes wide.

“Leftovers.”

Aunt Avril claimed that she could sense the leftover emotions and “see” what had gone on at the scene of a crime. I knew there had to be more to it than that or the FBI wouldn’t always ask for her help.

“How is that fortune telling going for you, Avril?” Mom asked, her voice tight.

“You can tell fortunes?” Zoey rubbed her hands on her pants and held them out. “Can you read my palm?”

Taking one of Zoey’s hands in her own, Aunt Avril turned her wrist to make sure that everyone could see the ring on her thumb. It showcased a snake encircling a swirled green and yellow gemstone. I cringed when I saw that the snake was eating its own tail. “This is my newest souvenir. An Irish traveler gave it to me as a token of appreciation.”

Dad put his napkin on the table. “Go ahead, Avril. What’s in store for our Zoey?”

Aunt Avril didn’t appear to notice my mother’s stern look. The rings on each of her fingers clicked together as she reached out and took Zoey’s hand in her own. Mom folded her arms, but said nothing.

Aunt Avril traced a line across Zoey’s palm. “You will live a long life,” she whispered. Zoey stared at her own palm, as if she could see words written there.

If I were going to pretend to read someone’s palm, I think I could come up with something better than that, but Zoey looked impressed.

“Your tiny spark will ignite a wildfire that consumes nations.” Everyone at the table stared at Aunt Avril. She squinted her eyes and brought Zoey’s hand close to her face. “What is this? A handsome prince will declare his love for you.”

“Yuck!” Zoey pulled her hand back, and we all laughed at the expression on her face. Even though I knew it was an act, I wished Aunt Avril would predict something like that about me. Me and Lucas.

“It’s time for bed.” Mom pushed her chair away from the table, the legs screeching as they moved across the tile floor. She gathered plates to take to the kitchen. “Zoey, give your dad a hug and go brush your teeth.” To me she said, “You get a free night tonight. Your aunt can help me with the dishes.”

When Zoey and I didn’t move, Mom motioned us toward the stairs. “To bed, you two.”

I waited until I was certain Dad was relaxing in front of the TV downstairs and wouldn’t be coming into his office, and then crept down onto the overhang.

On the second level of our new house, the floor sloped down and jutted out over the kitchen, where an opening allowed air to circulate through the house. I figured out early on that by sitting on the overhang, I could listen in on conversations my mother didn’t want me to overhear.

Mom and Aunt Avril were directly below me at the sink. I couldn’t see them, but I heard every word they were saying.

“What are you doing?” came a loud whisper from behind me. Zoey stood in the middle of the office space, with two stuffed animals in each arm.

I pressed my finger to my lips and motioned for her to squeeze in next to me.

“I don’t know why you have to bring the girls into it.” My mother’s voice carried up between the trusses near my feet. From here we could see the tops of the kitchen cabinets. Zoey’s mouth formed a silent ‘O’ and she crawled to me, her stuffed animals filling up any extra space near us.

“I don’t see the harm in telling it like it is, Maggie.” Avril’s voice sounded lower and less congenial than at dinner. “I know you don’t approve of the decisions I’ve made, but you have to let them find their own answers to life’s little idiosyncrasies.”

“We are getting along fine without your particular
idiosyncrasies
.”

“Yes, but you can’t ignore what is clearly there. You know she’ll come to it on her own. Think how much better off she will be if she has someone to guide her.”

A dish slammed on the counter. “Someone like you?”

Avril’s voice was soft and I had to strain to hear her answer. “Don’t you remember how hard it was for us?”

“I’d give the world to my girls if I could,” Mom’s voice softened. “But I don’t want that kind of a life for them.”

“Let me spend some time with McKayla.”

Both women stopped talking and the room was silent, except for the clanking of dishes. Zoey curled up next to me, her eyes wide.

“Why are you really here?” Mom broke the silence.

Aunt Avril’s voice was low and tired. “I need a break. This case is taking its toll on me. Every time I get close to this perpetrator, she slips out of my grasp. I’m always too late.”

“I heard there was a murder in Jackson Hole last month. Does it have anything to do with your case?