Runes (Paranormal Romance, YA,) (4 page)

I sighed. Mom rarely used her computer. In fact, I’d reached the conclusion that she hated technology. She did inventory for the Mirage by hand and had piles of thick ledgers gathering dust in the den. “I don’t know, but it’s tomorrow afternoon at four.”

“Do we need to take something? Drinks? Dessert?”

Smiling, I shook my head. “It’s Ultimate Frisbee, Mom, not team dinner. How was the store?”

“Other than the broken mirror, business as usual. Go shower. I’ll keep the food warm.” She stepped back, reached down, and lifted a large paper bag from her hand-made crocheted bag. “Sweet and sour chicken, your favorite, and beef and broccoli for me.” She dug inside a bag and pulled out an egg roll, which she dangled teasingly.

I snatched it and munched on it as I headed upstairs to my bedroom. After showering, I changed into sweatpants and a shirt and headed downstairs. Halfway down the stairs, I noticed Mom in front of the mirror in the living room. She was muttering to herself while studying her reflection.

“I can’t do it without Tristan. Our daughter needs both of us.” She swiped at the wetness on her cheeks. She’d never cried since Dad’s plane crashed.

“Mom?”

“Ah, there you are,” she said without looking at me. She moved away from the mirror and hurried toward the kitchen. “Let’s eat.”

I frowned, hustling after her. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I wish your father would hurry up and come home.”

My throat closed. “Have you heard something?”

“No, sweetie, but three months is too long for him to be missing.”

Even though he was listed as a missing person and his case was still open, he could have been at the bottom of the ocean for all we knew. I hated to be negative, but every time I visited the website the airline had created for victims of the flight and found nothing new, my confidence dipped. I didn’t know where Mom got her optimism.

She removed the boxes from the microwave and poured herself a glass of wine, which she immediately sipped. “So, what do you want for your seventeenth birthday, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know. The usual.” I liked my birthday celebrations low key. I hung out with Eirik and Cora, watched my favorite TV series, and pigged out on pizza and cake. “What is it you and Dad wanted to tell me when I turned seventeen? You made it seem like it was important.”

“Oh, honey.” A haunted look entered her eyes. As though she didn’t want me to see her expression, she put down her wine and unwrapped the chopsticks. “We’ll explain after your dad comes home.”

“Why not now?”
        

She smiled, reached out, and gripped my chin. “Always impatient. You get that from me. Your father is the patient one.” She let go of my chin, picked up her drink, and sipped. “The story can wait. You’re only seventeen anyway.” She cocked her head, green eyes sparkling. “Let’s do something fun together for your birthday, just the two of us.”

What did my age have to do with anything? I forced myself to focus on her last statement. “Like what?”

“Mani-pedis. I can call Caridee.”

Caridee Jenkins was Mom’s manicurist. I never liked people touching my feet, but maybe this once. “Okay. When?”

“Let’s see. I have to work tomorrow, and you have the Frisbee thing in the afternoon. Do you have plans for the evening?”

“I was planning on hanging out with Eirik and Cora.”

Mom laughed as though to say, what else is new? “Let’s have her come over on Sunday afternoon. We could get facials, too.”

“Can a facial remove freckles?”

Mom’s back stiffened, and her eyes narrowed. Uh-oh, I knew that look. It meant a lecture was coming. I braced myself.

“Lorraine Sarah Cooper, you should be ashamed of yourself. Don’t ever do anything to get rid of your freckles.” She touched my nose. “They are beautiful, like a sprinkle of gold dust.”

I rolled my eyes. She was so biased. My skin would be perfect without them.

When we finished eating, Mom yawned and eyed her bulky bag. As usual, I knew she couldn’t wait to disappear upstairs to take a long bath and relax. She worked hard and deserved it. “Go on upstairs, Mom. I’ll lock up.”

“You sure?”

“I have this covered.”

“You do, don’t you?” She kissed my forehead and picked up her bag and wine glass. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Night, Mom.”

Left alone, I checked my phone one last time. Eirik still hadn’t returned my calls or answered my text messages. His silence had pushed me past worry to ticked-off. I sent him one last text, then wiped down the counter and left the house for my neighbor’s.

My heart picked up tempo with each step. What if he hadn’t fixed the mailbox? I’d look like an idiot thanking him for something he hadn’t done. Lights were on downstairs and upstairs, but as I got closer, rock music reached me from the other side of the house.

I followed the sounds to the garage, where Blue Eyes sat on a wooden box and tinkered with a greasy thingamajigger that looked like something one pulled out of a robot. I couldn’t tell where the music came from, but I recognized the classic rock tune. Not bad.

He didn’t glance up or move, yet the music stopped. Magic? No, I shouldn’t even think like that. It was illogical. Magic didn’t exist.

“I thought we agreed to stay away from each other, Freckles.”

I’m not letting him get to me. Not this time.
“I plan to, but you fixed the Petersons’ mailbox, so I’m here to thank you.”

“Courteous? You? What happened to the snarky girl I met earlier? Raine with an E?” He looked up, a wicked smile curling his lips. “I liked her.”

I ignored the dig. “How did you do it?”

He wiped his greasy hands on a cloth. “Magic.”

“Don’t start. Magic is not real.”

“Says who?”

“Me. Science. Logic.”

“Okay, Freckles. We’ll play this your way. We’ll say I was inspired, and there’re no heights a man can’t reach when...” he got up, leaned closer, and whispered, “inspired.”

I stepped back. He was overwhelming up close. Vibrant. “Uh, well, I just wanted to say thanks and see how much I owe you for replacing it.”

He pulled a folded manila envelope from the back of his pants and offered it to me. It was the envelope I’d used for the Petersons’ mail, but the letter I’d taped on it was missing.

“Where’s my letter?”

“Check inside. It was a very sweet and sincere apology.”

Part of me was outraged he’d read my letter, but I wasn’t surprised. He was rude. “So how much do I owe you?”

He pushed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, giving me a glimpse of skin around his waist. I quickly averted my eyes before he could catch me ogling him again.

“Let’s see,” he said slowly. “Fixing the mailbox, your car, sitting through tea with the two nosey ladies across the street, and listening to their gossip makes that—”

“You fixed my car? There was no dent on it.”

“Scratches. Mrs. Rutledge and Mrs. Ross believed you deliberately crashed into the Petersons’ mailbox. The scratches would have confirmed it, but I convinced them they were mistaken.”

“Convinced them how?”

“By drinking lukewarm tea and eating rock hard scones.” He shuddered.

I smiled despite myself. “Okay. So how much do you want?”

“I don’t want your money, Freckles.” His voice became serious. “But one day I’ll need a favor and you’ll drop everything for me.”

Put that way, it sounded ominous, like he already knew what favor he planned to ask. I shivered. “As long as it’s within reason.”

“I’ve been told I’m a reasonable guy.” The smile he gave me was slow and so wicked my breath caught. I stepped back.

“Well, uh, goodnight.” I hurried away, but I was aware of his eyes on me.

His laughter reached me when I stopped to check the rear end of my car. Did I really have scratches? How and when had he fixed them? Maybe the motorcycle I’d heard after picking up my car hadn’t been a figment of my imagination. He probably went to DC Tires and spray painted over the scratches. One phone call tomorrow should confirm it.

Magic my butt. He was just screwing with my head.

***

A weird rattling yanked me from a bad dream. I sat up and stared around in confusion, not sure whether I was still dreaming, but the dull hum filling my room was as familiar as the hated freckles on the bridge of my nose. My bedroom was the only room in our house with a vintage fan that droned all night like a plane’s engine. According to Mom, the fan belonged in the junkyard or some metal sculptor’s masterpiece. I disagreed. The fan was one-of-a-kind, like something straight out of a steampunk book, my latest craze.

I glanced at the clock on my dresser. Almost midnight. I’d barely gone to bed. Sliding under the covers, I closed my eyes and tried to force myself to fall asleep.

The rattling came again, and realization hit me. Someone was throwing pebbles at my window. Only one person could wake me up in the middle of the night and get away with it.

Eirik.

I flung the covers aside, ran to the window, and looked outside. He stood under the tree, shafts of street light bouncing off his golden locks, his faithful companion—a Nikon camera—hanging around his neck.

“I’m coming up,” he called.

“No, you’re not.”

“C’mon, Raine.” He started up the tree right by the house where the balcony ended.

“You didn’t answer my calls or texts,” I griped.

“I didn’t have my phone. I still don’t.” For a six-foot-one guy, he was agile. But then again, he’d been climbing up this particular tree since elementary school. I still couldn’t do it without scraping something. He landed on the balcony like a lithe jungle cat and flashed his famous sweet smile, amber eyes begging. “Let me in, please.”

I crossed my arms. “Why should I?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re dying to know where I’ve been.”

I was, but I had to take a stance. If I’d ignored his calls, he’d be pissed. He had a terrible temper. “Not interested.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t return your calls and texts. I was pissed, and my cell phone flew right out of my hand and hit a wall.”

I frowned. “You mean you threw it.”

“If you must be so literal,” he said then added, “Uh, my parents are back.”

The pain in his voice killed all my protests. His parents were cold, standoffish. They were the least loving people ever. I unlocked the window and stepped back, flipping on the light on my computer desk.

As soon as he stepped inside, I hugged him. He wrapped his arms around me and buried his face in my hair. Eirik and I had been inseparable since we were kids. We grew up together and played in our backyards, which were connected before his parents decided one day to add the stupid fence. We’d shared everything, and in third grade, we’d even promised to marry each other. He was my best friend, and there was not a thing I didn’t know about him. His parents had adopted him when he was a baby, but instead of showering him with love and attention, they’d spent most of their time traveling and leaving him with nannies and a housekeeper. He’d spent most of his waking and sleeping hours at our house as a child and that hadn’t changed. Sometimes I wondered how my loving parents could be friends with his.

“How long are they going to be around this time?” I asked, stepping back.

“They’re not. They are talking about moving back home.”

Home was somewhere in northern Europe. I panicked. Dad was still missing, and I refused to lose someone else I loved.

“No. You can’t leave. We promised we’d graduate together, go to college, and—”

“Hey… hey…” Eirik gripped my arms and peered into my eyes. “I’ve spent the last several hours trying to convince them to let me stay.”

“What did they say?”

“They’ll think about it.”

That wasn’t good enough. “I can’t lose you too, Eirik. Not now.”

He chuckled, lifted his camera, and snapped a picture of me. “I’m not going anywhere, worrywart, and your dad will be back. Your mother believes it, and if you haven’t noticed, she tends to be right about everything.” He bumped my arm with his, then placed his camera on my computer desk. “So, can I stay?”

“Like you need to ask.” He used to curl up on the window seat with a blanket, but then he turned thirteen, shot up, and the window seat became too small.

He pulled the rollout bed from under my bed and plopped on top of it. Other than Cora, most people at school assumed Eirik and I were a couple because we did everything together. Not that I cared what anyone thought. I had no interest in other guys, and he hadn’t shown interest in any other girls. He and I would be so great together.

I threw him two pillows and lay on my tummy, so I could look at him as we talked. “You should move in with us. Mom can talk to your parents if you’d like.”

“No, I have it covered.”

He sounded confident, so I nodded. “Okay. About the new guy in your old house, he came looking for you.”

He frowned, amber eyes narrowing. “Torin?”

So that was his name. Torin. It suited him. “Yeah, dark hair, leather jacket, and a Harley.”
Dipped in arrogance,
I added silently.