The Steward (7 page)

Gavin helped Mitch out of his coat and hung it up, then picked him up, tossing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and headed out of the room. “Mitch and I are going to watch a movie. Want to join us, Maggie?” he asked, grinning at me.

My intent was to sound cool and in control when I answered, but the instant we made eye contact I achieved neither and drew the attention of everyone. To the sound of snickering, I giggled and breathlessly wheezed out, “Oh ... um ... I uh ... um ... sure.”

Meeting Gavin was the most incredibly surprising thing about my first two weeks in Arkansas. He visited me several times after that.
He was so kind and funny—and the most … beautiful … handsome … unreal human being I’d ever seen. Each of his visits left me breathless and daydreaming.
After the snow melted, he showed up to take Mitch and me for a ride. I jumped at the chance to get away from the Weald—and away from the sensation of being watched by something hidden in the trees that ringed the cottage.

When we walked out, Gavin was leaning against a small, very sleek looking sports car—a medium blue metallic coupe with chrome wire wheels and a caramel-colored leather interior. It was definitely an antique, and that captivated Mitch. It had chrome vents in the fenders, behind the front wheels, and a trident in the middle of the grill. It wasn’t the kind of car I expected Gavin would drive—in my daydreams, I imagined a sleek red Ferrari—but this car was somehow perfect. It was elegant, gorgeous and athletic, all at the same time.

Smallish inside, Gavin barely fit. A plaque on the steering wheel had a trident in it like the one on the grill, but I had no idea what kind of car it was. I guessed European. As we drove toward town, Gavin told us that it was a 1961 Maserati 3500 GTi two-plus-two, whatever any of that meant. I just knew that within moments Mitch became Gavin’s biggest fan.
Well, second biggest.

The back seat was tiny, just big enough for a backpack—or an eight-year-old—and the car made a lot more noise than I was used to as it whined through its first gear. But it was very cool. On the curvy road from the lake, the car took every bend like it rode on rails. Gavin changed gears, shifting up and down, like a seasoned veteran—even his driving was hot. He seemed to know exactly where to put the gears to keep the engine howling through every corner. It was exhilarating, and I felt ecstatic despite my desire to shut my eyes through each curve of the winding road.

“You’re sixteen? How did you get so good at driving?” I asked over the engine howl.

“I’m just a natural, I guess. I love driving a great car.”

“And speaking of that, who buys a sixteen-year-old an antique Maserati?”

“Dad bought it for me at an auction in Denmark last year, just before we moved back.” He smiled, downshifting as we entered a tight corner. “He had one when he was younger. The Italians, Maggie, are
the
best at building a car with soul,” he said as he accelerated out of the corner.

“Could you teach me to drive?” I was so caught up in the moment that I didn’t even know what I was asking until I heard the words escape my mouth.

“I’d be happy to,” he said. A devastating half-grin formed on his smooth, full lips.

“Oh no way,” Mitch protested. “You’re gonna let her drive
this
?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Aren’t parts for Maseratis hard to find in Arkansas,” Mitch said before giggling.

I really liked Gavin. I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing his perfect straight nose, the way it angled away from his masculine brow, his deep chocolate eyes, and those long, thick eyelashes. His baritone laugh rang in my head whenever I pictured his seductive half-smile.
And those dimples!

I tried flirting with him several times, but he was oblivious. Maybe it was because he’d lived in Europe. Perhaps he was accustomed to more sophisticated girls. Maybe I could learn French and speak with an accent. I could look at him with big, pouty lips and dramatic eyes and say, “Eye thinque eye aim cap-t-vay-ted wit chooo, my dar-el-ling.” I laughed at myself because that didn’t sound at all like a French accent.

“Get a grip! You’re stuck head-first in a cave, speaking with a bad accent … to impress a guy?” The sound of my own muffled voice startled me. But if it were his arms wrapped around me in the darkness instead of the cold rock of the tunnel, I wouldn’t want to be found. And I wouldn’t mind being short of breath so much. I wouldn’t care that I was…

With nothing else to focus on, I cackled. The entire situation was so absurd, so genuinely funny that I couldn’t help it.
Did I use up all the oxygen?
I wondered if I was in shock, or delirium, or whatever else might result from oxygen deprivation.
You’re laughing because this is funny, stupid.

After a few breaths, I decided the air was fine. Finally more relaxed, I felt certain I could get out of the hole—I was a fighter. I’d fight for it like I always did in my swim meets. Then I started laughing for another reason—I’d always taken pride in my gracefulness, another blessing from my mother, never imagining that I would fall face-first into a small hole in the bottom of a cave. On top of that, I’d most likely have to wait hours for someone to pull me out like some lost kitten from a well. Mom, Dad, Mitch … they would never let me live this down. I laughed out loud, causing more pain in my ribs.
Okay, I’ve ve had enough of this. I want out … now.

“Okay cave,” I demanded as loud as I could, “let go of me!” I imagined the rock walls loosening their tight grip on my pinned body.

As soon as the image crossed my mind, the large stone that pinned me moved—very smoothly, but quickly. Disoriented and terrified, I had no idea what happened
. A cave-in, maybe? An earthquake?
Within a second or two, the rocks that held me in place … well … let go. As they did—with a deep grinding sound that I felt more than heard—I slid a little further down, ending up on my side next to the flashlight. A push of the switch as I grasped it brought the beam back to life.

Every nerve in my body tingled, and my muscles strained to stretch in response to their new freedom. I was so happy to be loose—like coming to the surface of the pool after a race—that the sensation of air filling my lungs and swelling my chest sent my mind into sweet ecstasy. The feeling didn’t last long, though—I was still in a cave. I tried to understand what happened, but couldn’t make sense of it. I got to my feet, shifting my backpack into place behind me, and watched in disbelief as the floor of the cave leveled out. Each time I blinked I expected to find myself back in the hole when my eyes reopened. I immediately wondered whether any of it was real or just some bad dream. Running my fingers under my cap, I felt the knot on the back of my head and cringed from the stabbing pain I felt there.

“I must be awake, but…”

The chamber grew much larger as the floor shifted. While I watched, the floor I stood on descended down the walls, finally stopping at least twenty-five feet below the entrance to the cavern. My only way of escape was suddenly way out of reach.

“What? No stairs to climb out?” I said, needling the cave. But I pictured a staircase in my head.

Once again, as before, stones began to move. They came out of the wall beneath the opening, one above another, forming stairs. A breath caught in my throat, and I stepped backwards into another wall with a thud.

“Of course,
that
makes complete sense,” I said, dumbfounded, unable to believe anything my eyes told my brain.

It took a moment for everything to soak in. Though I knew I should’ve been terrified, I felt only mind-numbing disbelief. I sat down on the floor and wrapped my arms around my body. While part of my mind said
get the heck out of here as fast as you can
, the rest wanted only to enjoy finally being able to fill my lungs.

“Thank you!” I said.

“You’re welcome,” replied a deep voice from somewhere in the darkness.

FOUR

SARA

I shuddered and scanned the room.
Good lord, what next?

“There is nobody here,” I whispered. I felt certain it was just my mind playing tricks on me—probably too much blood in my head from spending so much time upside down. My watch said 11:03 am. I had spent nearly an hour-and-a-half in the hole. A rational person would “high tail it” as Aunt May would say. I nearly did. Over the past hour, I hadn’t even thought about the reason I came to the cave in the first place. But then I saw it.

Highlighted by the narrow beam of the flashlight, I saw what appeared to be the Earth sign, the very thing I’d been looking for. Carved into the wall, the sign had been hidden by the stone floor.

“Of course, that makes sense, too,” I said sarcastically. “I should have known the secret sign would be hidden under the Temple of Doom sliding floor.”
But how did Aunt May know?
Some of the strange things she had shared with me began to ricochet around my mind.

A laugh rang out. My eyes followed the flashlight to every section of the chamber. I was still alone. My heart sped up, and the nerves throughout my body sent rapid little tweaks to my brain.

The carving was little more than a fingertip deep, and just as intricate as the one Aunt May showed me in the gazebo. There was an opening in the center shaped like the stone in my hand. A tingling sensation shot down my spine when I pressed the stone into the hole. It fit perfectly.

The stone changed, becoming clearer, almost translucent, and emitted a faint light. With a flick of my thumb, the flashlight went dark. Stunning! It glowed, growing increasingly brighter as I watched. Skepticism, disbelief, shock—they each took a turn with me, but my inner voice countered.
This is really happening, isn’t it?

“Okay, what now?” I said softly.

“Remain patient,” the voice replied.

Fear gripped me again and I twisted my head, focusing on every shadow—I started to freak out. There
was
someone else, a man, in here with me. He was hidden in the shadows, but apparently was close enough to hear me. The fear I felt the moment I realized I was trapped in the hole returned with a vengeance, and triggered my flight instinct. The rational part of my brain told me to sprint to the stairs and keep running all the way to the rope ladder, but whoever was in here stood between me and the way out.
Has he watched me the entire time?
A chill rattled through my body when I pictured Chalen’s milky blue eyes in my mind.

“Do not fear me—you will not be harmed,” the voice reassured me.

Oh great
,
he knows I’m scared
. “May I have your name?” My voice sounded sheepish.

“I am Devin,” the voice replied. “A friend.”

“I’m Maggie.” I was trembling.

With a soft chuckle, it said, “Oh, I know who you are, Maggie O’Shea. I have been expecting your visit, though I did not expect it to go so well.”

My fear did what it always had—it turned to anger. “Well?” I asked with a shrill edge in my voice. “I could have died in that hole!”

“I think you know, Miss O’Shea, that you were in no real danger.”

Somehow I knew he was right. Though still afraid and angry, my curiosity took over.
He’s Fae isn’t he? Aunt May was right—this is all real.
I conjured up the courage to ask, “Did I cause the floor to move, or did you do that?”

The voice returned, “A little of both, truth be known, and the same with the stairs. Lovely second request—even Lola was not that creative.”

His answer caused my mind to race as I wondered whether I truly controlled the stones. Did he mean Lola, my great, great, great aunt? Aunt May had told me about her, though I barely listened. She built the cottage and was the Steward before Aunt May. Had she been through this too? Of the many questions forming in my mind, I ended up asking the most pressing, “Where are you? I’d like to know who I’m talking to.”

“My face is right here, Maggie. Just look into the light.”

Though still doubtful, I turned and focused on the glowing light. Nothing happened initially, but as I concentrated a little harder a face and shoulders materialized. It seemed to hover above what appeared to be the rest of a body. It faded toward the edges where the light dissipated. The form wasn’t solid—I could see the wall of the cave through it. It did seem non-threatening, though. Devin’s small, round face looked about the same size as Mitch’s. His large, kind eyes and bulbous nose looked comically dwarfish. Below them, a thick, bushy mustache and long beard nearly hid his big, goofy mouth.

“Okay, you look remarkably like one of Snow White’s dwarfs—that’s not what you really look like, is it?”

“No. I can take any form you wish. With Fae-kind, sometimes you see what you expect to see. Human thoughts project the images they picture, Maggie. I picked this particular form from a number of images that have recently crossed your mind. I thought it would be the least frightening.”

I’d totally forgotten about picturing the dwarfs, but it was true—I had. I used them to calm myself as I crawled through the tunnel.

He let out a throaty, coarse laugh before saying, “I could have picked
Indiana Jones,
I suppose. You were thinking about him as well, but I feared that Harrison Ford might be too disturbing.”

Uncomfortable and uneasy, I realized he saw
everything
I had imagined. “Great! You can read my mind, and apparently you’re familiar with action films.”

“No, not exactly,” Devin replied. “You project images and emotions—I see and feel those. Sometimes the images are clear, as well as the emotions attached to them, but I cannot read your thoughts.”

“Devin, how did I move the stones?”

His translucent face beaming, he explained that I didn’t move the stones. Rather, with his help, I altered their shape. Eventually I would learn to do it on my own, he told me.

“You said Fae-kind. So everything Aunt May said is true?” Despite standing next to one, I still could not wrap my head around the idea that the Fae were real.
How could the world not know? How can this really be happening? What do they want?