 
  Unraveled

A. D. Roland

A. D. Roland

© 2013 A. D. Roland

Digital Edition
All rights reserved. Except for the use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means is forbidden without the express permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and settings are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, names, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

© 2013 Ashley Roland

~*~

I'm coming unraveled. Part of me trails through time and space, disintegrating. I try to catch the remnants as they fall away, but they slip through my fingers like the shade I will soon become. The Superior stands behind me, always watching, always there, but always silent. All I want, all I need, is for Him to tell me I'm okay.

But he won't, because I have to figure it out myself.

Darien's gone. Part of me is gone, too. What's left leaks out through the holes in my soul, those wispy bits that dissolve into the Nothingness.

I want the Superior to tell me Darien is still out there, somewhere, somewhere in the vast Knot of time and space, but he won't. He places a hand on my shoulder, just to remind me of his presence. Cold comfort.

How long would I feel like this? Phrases like "how long" hadn't bothered me before. Darien and I, we laughed when somebody asked 'how long?' Now, the phrase tears at my heart. How long do I have to wait until I don't hurt anymore?

It's a cruel trick of fate. Our purpose for existing is also our torturer. We are temporally immortal. We age and slip back into youth and age again, continuously. Look at our faces one moment, you'll see the glow of youth—most of us are plucked from our times and nations in our mid-twenties—but if you glance away and look back, you may see wrinkles and gray hairs. We've all seen our births, we've all laughed at survival stories of the near-destructive paradoxes we've unintentionally created when our past-or-future selves catch a glimpse of us. Because time doesn't affect us, we don't have to eat or sleep.

We do because it reminds us we were once human, before Time stole us. We are temporal oddities.

Darien marveled at the tiny human pleasures. Walking barefoot in summer grasses, or on a beach somewhere. Feeling the wind blow his shaggy hair around his head, or laughing when it blew my hair into my face. He loved to laugh. He hung on to his humanity, and showed me how to do the same.

One in ten million is born with the ability to move through the tangled wad of temporal byways that we call Time. The first Ripper came from sixteenth century Italy. The second from the year 5000. Darien came from the 1990's, and I came from 2054.

All timelines exist simultaneously. It's a huge knot, tangled and twisted and ever-growing. I can stand in one spot, say 1987, and take a step back, and be in 1432. Or take another step back, and I'm in 7986. I can climb timelines like monkeys in treetops, swing across gaps like Tarzan. Lines double back on themselves, tangle up, all guided by every thought and action of every being on the planet, all at once. It's beyond true description, since human metaphors and similes only encompass what we see and know.

When Darien disappeared, I tried to keep track of the days. I couldn't, since we don't move in increments of time. We move from event to event. One moment I was an hour before he was taken from me, and the next, I was two hours after, with the Superior holding me from the slowly-closing rift in time. We constantly move around the knot, tying broken threads, repairing the damage done when Time grows too short, or some unchecked Ripper comes into his or her power. When an anachronism occurs, we deal with it before an anomaly forms and Time rips. The reasons we exist are endless—we don't know the end of time, but we have unalterable points in time, which much remain so. We defend those points from those with malicious intent, or innocent bad choices. We influence choices, and we go back along the thread to fix the mistakes. Angels, we joke. We are immortal, we serve the Superior, and death cannot touch us, so it can't be too far from the truth.

There is no time for grieving my loss. If I stop moving, stop following the Superior, stop tying knots...

I don't know what will happen, and as much as I mourn, I know I can't turn my back on my Superior.

We travel in ships that are really rooms, places to keep our few belongings and to find respite from the turbulence of time. We can walk the Lines without the ships, in just our human form, but we choose to hold to the human ideas of shelter and home.

Time doesn't affect us, so the wounds left by Darien's taking are raw. Since we exist outside of time, the wounds are unprotected by the natural balm of passing moments, hours, days, years.

I could look outside, and see the beautiful meadow and the shores of the quiet pond where Darien and I stood, the capsule in our hands. I could watch my past-self and Darien fight to shove the capsule through the membranous walls of Time itself in an attempt to cast the captured anomaly into the void of Nothingness that exists around the Knot.

I sense an anomaly. It burns inside me like heartburn. I step into the Knot and find myself in 1993. The Superior's presence lingers, but from here, I am on my own. I could walk away. I could turn my back on my gift, on the One who entrusts me with His universe, but instead, I close my eyes and listen for the rustle of the Nothingness breathing through a hole in time.

The threads of Time are knotted, or a strand breaks. Rarely are the anomalies man-made, because only Rippers can manipulate time, and Rippers are scooped up the moment they awaken to their true nature. Rumor is death awakens us, those of us who can unravel time.

I've destroyed six anomalies recently, counting the one that took Darien. They've all been the same--something out of place in time. A cell phone in Victorian London, a piece of a twenty-ninth century spaceship in the 1990s. True anomalies are rare, and to have so many at once is bizarre.

Those we considered man-made, a Ripper had to have placed those objects where we found them. Time sensed those things, like a body senses a splinter or a wound, and attempted to correct the disturbance, which creats the rips and tears we repair.

The longer I dance on the threads of time, the greater my chance of catching a glimpse of Darien. I hope so, anyway. Because he was sucked into the membrane, into the Nothingness outside the Knot. No one has ever returned from the Nothingness. Maybe only my memories of Darien are all that exists of him now. I'm scared to search for him. I'm scared I won't find him. He had a family--parents, siblings, a wife and a child, before the Containment teams brought him to our ship. Those people in the midst of their lives may never know him, or will forget him entirely. After we've contained the anomaly, I'll look for his children. If they exist, the myths are wrong. The Nothingness doesn't eliminate us entirely.

The new anomaly is a wristwatch in Times Square, 1993. It puzzles me, since there is nothing anachronistic about a wristwatch on the ground in Times Square. I slip it into a capsule, and together, the Superior and I pry open the smallest of holes in the fabric of time and push the capsule through. The ache in my chest fades. All is well, for now.

I hear a voice so familiar and dear, my heart aches. Darien. He's here, somewhere. It makes sense. In 1993, he was a newlywed. He and his wife came to New York for their honeymoon. He hated it. I search the crowd for his blue-black curls and broad shoulders. "Did you hear him?" I ask the Superior.

He is impassive, as always. It's time to go back to the ship. If we stay in one place too long, Time treats us like an inflammation and another anomaly will begin to form. We truly don't belong anywhere, anytime.

That's why I love Darien so dearly. We belonged together, in anytime, anyplace. We could stay anywhere and be safe from Time's ravages. Most Rippers find a partner once they've awakened. Perhaps its one of Time's blessings. If we're to navigate the whole of existence, backwards and forwards, at least we are given a partner. Ripping alone is a quick trip into madness.

Madness. I wonder if I will succomb. Will the Superior release me, at last? What's beyond the Knot, beyond this existence? Is there anything for us, those of us who walk like angels through all of the Superior's creation?

I close my eyes and breathe in the exhaust-tainted air, seeking that precious voice just once more. A hand closes around my wrist. "I'm coming," I say. Even though I have Time at my fingertips, there is ever more to do. When I open my eyes, the Superior has left my side. The pressure around my wrist vanishes. I raise my hand and the entire world spins. I jump back into the ship instantly. My heart pounds so hard, so fast, I can scarcely catch my breath.

The watch, the very one we just sent into the Nothingness, is fastened around my wrist.

"What does it mean?" I ask the Superior. I can't look directly at him. To some, he's God. To others he's the universe. He's Karma. He's an old man to some, to other he's the embodiment of youth. He is who we need to guide us through the Knot, the author and creator of everything above and below. He shakes his head and turns my wrist over, first one way, then the other. The watch is simple. A silver band with a plain white face. Dashes instead of numbers. The minute and hour hands are frozen, as any clock's hands are when in our presence. The second hand ticks, forever ticking, but never progressing.

Is this something even He knows nothing about? The idea of that frightens me more than anything else.

The Superior slips back into the time stream without answering any of my questions. Darien treated the Superior like a friend, always laughing and joking. He spoke to the Superior, and the Superior would answer. To each of us, he is what we need. To me, the Superior is a father-figure, kind but distant. I can't help but think the watch made the Superior uneasy.

The burn begins in my chest once more. I can't ponder the watch any longer. I leave it on my wrist and step into the Knot.

2013. A box of cereal that hasn't been made since 1982 sits on a counter in an abandoned house in a tiny town in Florida. We send it into the Nothingness, and before I can step back into the Knot, I find a handful of the novelty sugary shapes in my pocket.

Again, the Superior is speechless.

69 B.C. A wet t-shirt adorns a crude desert idol. When I step back into the ship, I'm mysteriously wearing it. I venture to another anomaly and send a gold ring into the Nothingness. I return to the ship, and it's on my finger.

The Superior stops coming when I call. He doesn't have the answers.

Or worse, he has the answers, but won't give them to me.

The next anomaly is the one that nearly destroys me. Darien's driver's license resting on a pile of seaweed, thirty years before his birth.

I break from the others and search through time until I find his timeline. Before I step into it, I follow the glowing thread through the Knot. During his thirtieth year, the line goes dark. He was plucked from his mortal life two days after he turned thirty. I find his presence everywhere in the Knot after that, his light changed as all of ours change, tiny glimmers of light in times he visited. Nearly all are accompanied by my own life's light. Tears run down my cheeks and drip into Time. I don't know what the effects will be, if any at all.

Hands draw me back into the ship. The Superior takes the anomalies from me--the crushed cereal, the t-shirt, and the ring. He unfastens the watch and holds his hand out for the driver's license. I know he has to destroy them. Infection sets in, and the inflammation can destroy the Knot.

"No," I tell him. It's tucked safely inside my shirt, next to my heart.

I know the anomalies have to be destroyed. Time will find them. There is no telling what it will do with so many anomalies in one place, from so many different time periods.

Then it dawns on me.

"They aren't from different time periods. Years, yes, but..." I take each item back from the Superior. Suddenly the significance dawns on me, as heavy and sharp as an ax. I place each thing on the table. "The watch." I flip it over and hold it up to the light. Etched into the metal place on the back are letters. C/O 1993. "Darien graduated college in 1993. The cereal was his favorite as a child. The t-shirt is from his favorite television show."

Coincidences. Darien went into the Nothingness. No one knows what happens to his timeline, to his very existence, when one vanishes from Time. Perhaps the things in his existence impoded into the Knot. Perhaps all of this is just debris.

"The driver's license is no coincidence." It fits on my ring finger perfectly. "I don't know what the ring means. He was married before he awakened."

The idea of his timeline imploding might account for the ring.

The fire burns in my breast again. I slip through Time into an empty house. The air is redolent with the smell of fresh paint and new carpet. Sunlight shines through the windows, through which I can see a beautiful backyard. Bright green grass; a huge oak tree with a swing hangs from an impossibly high branch. I want nothing more than to run out there barefoot and swing.

What is Time, and what are we, if we can't enjoy any of it?

I leave my shoes by the sliding glass doors and skip through the thick, lush grass. The lawn is perfectly manicured, with colorful flowerbeds around a low deck. A breeze blows my hair around my face, and I smile as I think about how much Darien loved the feel of the wind in his hair. Simple pleasures, he always said. The sun on your face, the wind in your hair, the grass under your feet.

I sit down on the swing and push off. I pump my legs and soar higher and higher. I can travel from one end of creation to the other, but nothing feels as lovely as a simple board swing hanging from an oak tree.

Tears flow as I wonder what sort of life Darien and I would have had if we'd been normal humans. Perhaps this could have been our home. Our time. There's a horrible moment when I lean back too far and lose my balance. The swing shifts under my weight and I lose my grip on the rope in my left hand. I hang there for a moment, too terrified to slip back into Time and land safely in the Knot or the ship.

I hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs. A shadow falls over my body, but I can't focus on trying to draw air into my chest and on whoever is leaning over me at the same time. I roll over, catching a glimpse of a familiar smirk and sparkling eyes. I catch the elusive breath in the next second and shove myself up, his name on my lips.

But I'm alone in the yard.

The burning in my chest is so great, I can't breathe around it. I dive back into the ship. The second I feel the cool bulkhead beneath my hands and knees, the burning eases.

Alone in the Knot, I twist the ring around and around on my finger. Darien is trying to communicate with me. I know it. He's here, somewhere. I scan the Knot, seeking his presence. I watch his life--what should have been his life--and my soul shatters.

I can't find him. Anywhere. Fear strangles me as I step into the moment of his birth. I know it by heart. The hospital room his mother should have been in is empty. I race forward to his first day of school. His seat in the classroom is occupied by a little red-haired girl. I can't find him anywhere. I scream for the Superior as I tear through the rest of Darien's established timeline, all the way to the moment he awakened. I was there, that day. The Superior put his hand in mine, and smiled down on us.

The Superior shakes his head, mute. Tears track down his face. His gaze leaves my face and travels to the place beyond the Knot.

The Nothingness.

I'd taken comfort in the fact that Darien was still somewhere. Tangled in the Knot, lost in the Nothingness. Gone from me, but still somewhere. His light is gone, and I have nothing now.

Nothing but the ring on my finger.

I hold it up. The metal glints in the light the Superior emanates. "He didn't give me this, did he?"

I leave it on my finger. It still seems like part of him, even if it is a link my mourning heart created. I slip back into the ship and curl up on my couch. Another cold comfort, a purely human comfort. We don't sleep. We don't dream. My pillow smells of Darien.

The burn flares to life once more. It's sharp, more fierce than anything I've experienced before. I have no will to rise, but if I don't go, I fear the fire will consume me.

My mind slips into my own personal Nothingness. If I knew a way into the real Nothingness, I would go willingly.

I watch Time spin by before I slip into the Knot. The wound is forming over the anomaly, raw and angry. The edges of the hole are ragged and fraying. I know I'm taking too much time, but the multi-chromatic swirl of Time is mesmerizing. I think I may be going mad. I swear I hear voices. Even more disturbing, I hear Darien. I hear my own voice.

I'm going mad. I'm unraveling. Pieces of me spin off and dissolve into the edges of the anomaly. The inflammation increases. Power whips from the wound like lightening. I scoop up the offending object.

The anomaly is a capsule. I pick it up, confused. Capsules are Time-proof, like our ships. Time doesn't affect them...

I can't figure out why the capsule is even here, in the middle of a meadow somewhere on the English moors in the 1800's. I pry the lid off and shake out the contents. Around me, the wound roars and the sky roils. The fury of Time strikes fear into my heart, but I can't relinquish the capsule until I know what it is. It's a letter in an unsealed envelope. Blood pounds through my veins. It's hard to breathe. My name is scrawled across the front in a familiar handwriting. I trace the letters with a shaking finger. My hands tremble so wildly I can barely unfold the letter.

My heart falters. My world, reborn only a moment earlier, crashes around me. The paper is blank, save for a smear of ink. I sniff it, and it smells of him.

It's Time, trying to reorganize itself. Darien's loss wasn't a set point in time. I push the paper back into the capsule and throw it into the blackening wound in the Knot of Time. I wait for time to reorder itself. The strands of the Knot show through the wound, with the ominous blue-black Nothingness gleaming between the loops and whorls and tangles.

The Nothingness begins to pulse and grow. Strands disappear into the dark. I feel the Superior summoning me but I can't tear myself away from the cataclysm before me. I won't.

A vortex opens in front of me like a gigantic eye. The sight of eternity freezes the blood in my veins and the breath in my lungs. Colors unlike anything I've ever seen fluctuate and shift, a beautiful pattern that draws me closer. The song of infinity lures me in, until my fingertips are just shy of the rip. For a second, I think I hear the Superior yelling something over the scream of Time tearing apart.

I can't understand him, because Darien's voice silences everything--the pound of blood in my ears, the sweet song of the Nothingness, the angry roar of Time. His hand pushes through the vortex. Our fingers touch.

And it's him. Truly, truly him. It's not madness. It's not grief. It's Darien.

"Come with me," he whispers. His fingers lie beneath mine now, an invitation to take his hand and vanish with him into the Nothingness.

The Superior fights for me. His strength, normally formidable, is nothing compared to Dariens' feather-light touch on my fingers.

"Come with me," he says again. His voice is the siren song of infinity, Delilah beckoning me into temptation. I catch a glimpse of his blue eyes in the nebula. All fear leaves me and I take his hand. He pulls me through the rift, with the Superior's shouts ringing in my ears.

Grass, thick and lush under my feet. The wind blows my hair into my face and Darien laughs. The sound fades with the breeze. Instead of the plain gray coveralls all Rippers wear, I'm in a colorful sundress. The hem brushes the tops of my knees. I'm barefoot, rubber flipflops kicked off next to me in the grass. One is right-side up, the other facedown. I smell flowers, and the scent of fresh-cut grass.

There was something I was doing. I can't remember now, though. I'm in the backyard of the house, from the thread in the Knot where I couldn't find the anomaly. The back door of the house opens, and I walk out.

My breath catches in my throat. My other self paces through the yard and paused near the swing. Her face turns up to the sun and she closes her eyes. I know she's loving the way the sun feels, the way the wind feels, the way the grass crunches under her feet. She's thinking of how Darien loves those things. She sits on the swing and takes off. She's going to fall in a moment, and she doesn't even know it.

Darien's here. I feel his presence like I feel the sun on my shoulders. His hands gently squeeze my arms. He leans close, his cheek next to my temple. I touch his hands, and only feel my own skin.

And he's gone, and the vortex reopens before me.

New York, 1993. Times Square. I'm in the bustle of traffic. Shoulders and elbows hit me every few seconds, accompanied by the colorful curses of the natives I'm inconveniencing with my presence. I take a step, and bump into someone in front of me. Darien turns around and smiles. "Hey, watch it, lady." He pulls me close and kisses me. I see our wedding---me in a knee-length yellow dress with a blue sash, he in a suit with a matching bowtie. We had our wedding in an old barn, because his sister insisted on planning it, even though we wouldn't have cared where. His mom refused to speak to me, and his dad gave me a hug that lasted a little too long.

Darien tugs a lock of my hair. "I was thinking we could see a musical tonight. I couldn't remember which one you wanted to see the most, though." He pulls my hair again and I swat at his hand. My hand connects with his wrist a bit harder than I meant, and the clasp of his watch pops opens.

The sun catches the face with a flash of light as it flies off into the passing crush of humanity. Darien's face forms a surprised "O." I gasp an apology. We search for the watch, but we can't find it.

"I'm sorry."

He kisses my forehead and hugs me. "I hated it, anyway." Over his shoulder I see a familiar gray-clad woman. She stoops to pick something up.

As she holds it up, the face catches the light again. I turn to look for Darien, but step right into the vortex.

There's a box in my hands. Darien laughs and shakes his head. His mom glares at me from the living room. She actually has to crane her neck beyond the back of the couch to see down the short hallway. She's always hated me, from the moment she laid eyes on me. We're in his childhood bedroom in his parents' beachside home. I'm still reeling from New York, but I'm also fully in Florida, in 1992, just months before our wedding. I glance down at my hand and realize there's no ring. He hasn't even proposed yet.

Another horrible, gut-crunching thought screams in the back of my head.

None of this happened. None of this happened. I'm not even from his time period. I wasn't born until 2054. We couldn't have met. Yet I still remember college classes with him, laughing at a goofy professor during an English class, laughing at Darien as he turned green during a pig dissection in a biology class.

That didn't happen. Even as he sweeps my hair out of my face and plants a sloppy kiss on my lips, my mind is two places. With him through the early 90's, with him in the Knot, repairing time.

I'm starting to get a little confused.

Madness. I stared into the void for too long. I saw the soul of Time, and it drove me mad.

Darien kisses me again, this time seriously, and I don't care. I'm with Darien. We're together. His hand is pressed against my bare back and he's kissing me like he'll never see me again. He pulls back and gestures toward the cereal. "Let's see if it's stale."

I laugh. "I'm not eating cereal from 1982."

He leads me to the kitchen and pours a bowlful. He sets the box down on the counter. "Didn't check to see if there was any milk first. Darn." He pauses, frowns, and looks at the back of the box. "Hmm. The box doesn't say there's a prize in here, but look."

I peer into the bowl, and half-covered with the crumbly, weird-smelling bits of cereal, is a glittering sapphire and diamond ring. Breathless, startled, I turn to Darien and find myself staring into the vortex. It sucks me in before I can blink.

I'm in the house with that backyard. The place is lived-in, with a basket of laundry by the couch and folded stacks on the coffee table. A cartoon plays on the television, much to the amusement of a dancing toddler prancing around the living room. When I touch my face, my fingers come away wet. I'm crying. I'm exhausted, and I feel like I've been sobbing for days. Memories that are mine, but not mine, crowd into my head. Darien is missing. A police officer stands by the open front door, speaking to Darien's mother. She cries out and crumples to the floor. I run over and the police officer holds something out to me. There's a wet t-shirt in an evidence bag, the logo of his favorite show visible through the label. "This washed up on the beach," the officer says. Another officer, a detective, hands me another evidence bag. This one contains his wallet, soaked through. "We haven't found anything else," the detective says. I know he means they haven't found a body. The vortex opens behind him, and I leap through, unable to bear the pain of this incarnation.

The water laps at the shore softly, punctuated with the croak of frogs. "This place is gorgeous," Darien says. We're in our jumpsuits. His is unbuttoned and rolled around his waist, leaving him in his white undershirt.

I know this time. I know where we are. "I missed you," I say.

"Huh?"

"Nothing."

He stoops by the shore of the lake and plucks a flower from the grass. "It got turned inside out," he says. It's my turn to have no idea what he's talking about. He frames my face with his hands and touches his forehead to mine. "It all leads back to you."

The watch, the cereal. The backyard--I was the anomaly. That's why nothing was found. I fell into the vortex.

In all those places, it wasn't the objects that were the anomalies. It was me. Me with Darien, in that timeline that never happened. That's why sending the capsule through hadn't closed the rift.

Above us, another rift begins to open. Darien looks up. "You turned it inside out. You reordered time itself."

"That's impossible." The rift gets bigger. The nebulous Nothingness begins to sing its siren song. We both look up and watch the Knot unravel. "How can I be the anomaly?"

"It's one big circle. It's a loop. It was you. It was always you. From the beginning, it was you." He reaches up and his fingertips disappear into the rift. Static electricity spirals down his arms. His hair stands on end. "Come with me. Back to the beginning. When we lost one another."

A wave of vertigo washes over me. I close my eyes against it, and when I open them, I'm torn between the Superior and Darien. The vortex roars around us in a screaming fury. Back to the beginning, Darien said. I find his blue eyes in the Nothingness. "I'm coming," I promise.

I fall back into the ship.

I twist the ring around my finger. "Darien is alive and he's out there, on the other side of the Nothingness," I tell the Superior. _You reordered Time._ I couldn't fathom the theory that I'd gone beyond even the Superior's sight.

I lay out the objects on the table. The watch. The cereal box, the t-shirt, the ring. "I knocked the watch off his hand in New York. I was with him when he put the cereal box down on the counter. A police officer gave me the t-shirt after they found it on the beach, after he'd gone missing. I don't know about the ring, but everything else is telling me a story."

It doesn't make sense. I didn't live with him. I didn't marry him. I didn't even exist at the same time he did. I didn't live that life. I can't live that life.

The Superior paces the ship, silent.

"Maybe I'm crazy. Maybe I looked into the Nothingness for too long."

My entire body is encapsulated in flame. I scream, but flames race down my throat. The pain is beyond comprehension—I want it to stop and it to top now. I realize the anomaly is right over me. The ship shudders. The wound in Time opens. The Knot glimmers through the pulsing Nothingness. Those amazing, beautiful colors flow through the widening rift, singing sweetly. This anomaly is one that could destroy all of us if it isn't contained. The Nothingness swells. The temporal winds pick up and suck anything not tied down into the rift.

And I know what it means.

I dive into the Knot, into the Time I lost Darien. I can change this, because it wasn't supposed to happen. I appear between them, the past-me and Darien. I've never been so close to another me before, and I can't help but stare into her eyes. "It's us," I say. "We're the anomaly." I take her hand. The universe explodes in my mind, showing me everything that was and is and could be and never would be. The colors blind me, the sounds deafen me. Time rips open overhead with the sound of mountains crumbling. Vision returns, but only the gaping eye of the Nothingness appears before me. There's only me, standing before it.

I'm aware of Darien reaching for me. I'm her, and me, and I feel her last few moments of bewilderment and shock, and something akin to understanding. Behind me, the rift quiets to a gentle rumble. The colors pale, and I can focus on what I have to do. I kiss Darien once more. "I'm going to find you. Don't follow me."

Before he can reply, I fall backwards into the Nothingness.

There's Nothing, but there's Everything. I drift, awake, but dreaming. I live my life, and my other selves' lives. The ones with Darien, the ones without. The ones when I wasn't a Ripper, the lives when I was the Superior. I'm the Knot. I'm every single flicker of life. I drift, formless, for an eternity, until the Knot strangles itself, and the universe realigns it. Light eclipses the Nothingness and pulls me in. After an eternity of evanescence, the sensation of my fingers surprises me. The way the breeze ripples the tiny hairs on my arms makes me smile. It's been so long since I've felt anything.

"Come back," Darien says. His voice tickles my ear.

I turn around and I'm standing in his parents' kitchen. We're in our gray coveralls and his is rolled down to his waist, as usual. I go to him and kiss the dip of his collarbone. He shivers and hugs me. We pull apart, and we're in the big house with the backyard, and I'm hugely pregnant. His hands are on my belly and we're both smiling.

"We can keep this, if you want," he says. He takes my hand and leads me to shelves and shelves of photographs in pretty frames. Him and I, together. Dozens. "These are as real as we are right now."

"How?"

"The Nothingness. It gives us a second chance. We reordered Time."

I stroke his face and tangle my fingers in his curly hair. I've missed him so much. "You don't want to go back to your life before...?"

He grins. "You were my life before. It was you, and I didn't even realize it until the Nothingness showed me. This isn't a fantasy. This is real. This is how I knew I could find you again."

"You did send me those things!" The edges of the room are getting fuzzy. I blink, but the blurriness doesn't clear up. The Nothingness creeps in, filling the room with color and sound. I can't feel Darien's hands on mine. In the space of a heartbeat, I'm in the Nothingness again. I spin through the unraveled knot, seeking...something. A spark of lights burns like the sun, so bright I cover my eyes. My feet touch something of substance. Dirt, sand, grass...I can't tell. Hands grip my wrist. I know that weathered, rough skin. The Superior lowers my hands, but I keep my eyes closed. I don't want to see where I am.

"I want to go where he is," I whispered into the vastness of time and space. He speaks to me, for the first time, for the last time. His voice is wind and rain and earthquakes, all contained in a gentle whisper. The Superior tells me his terms. I can't come back. I can't ever Rip again. I can't touch Time, but I will be its slave until my last breath. He can't promise me I'll step into Darien's timeline right away. I may have to look for him. I may not find him. It may take my entire life to find him.

I turn the ring around on my finger. "I'll find him. Whatever it takes."

I might not find him until the end of my timeline, the Superior warns. He can send me back to the ship, back to my Ripper duties. There, Time can't touch me, nor can it dim the light of my memories with Darien.

Time can't touch us, so it can't heal the wounds his loss gouged into my soul.

"I want to go where he is."

The Superior smiles a sad little smile. He touches the top of my head and wishes me luck and Godspeed. A gust of wind and color wash over me, sucking away my breath and dissolving me into Nothingness.

Grass, lush and thick, curls under my toes. A breeze blows the scent of magnolia blossoms into my face. A strand of hair dances across my face. Warm, yellow sunlight shines through my eyelids. Far off, children are laughing, and something metallic squeaks. A exultant whoop and a thump, followed by cheers, encourages me to open my eyes.

I'm in the backyard. Through a gap in the high wooden fence, I can see a group of kids playing on an old swing set. I'm in the sundress, with my flip flops on the ground beside me. One right side up, one face-down. The wind gusts again. I catch the fading scent of the Nothingness, of stars and Time. The swing hanging from the oak tree sways gently.

The back door of the house swings open. I hold my breath, expecting my other self to pop through.

Darien steps out, in the bright blue t-shirt and ragged blue jeans. "Hey, babe. Chicken or steak or both?" He crosses to the smoking grill and flips the lid open. Tears fill my eyes and run down my cheeks. I can see the ship, and remember how to step backwards into the Knot. Darien flops the meat down on the grill and closes the lid. "You okay?"

His smile strikes me to my core. I can't smell the Nothingness anymore. I sniff again, and this time I can't remember whatever it is I can't smell. I sit on the swing and push myself back and forth on tiptoe. Darien joins me. He pushes me in silence. "Hey, we made it," he says out of the blue.

"What?" It meant something--it means something--but for the life of me, I can't remember what.

"I don't know now. It seemed important for a second." He surprises me by spinning the swing. The world zips around me, half-hidden by the hair in my face. I catch glimpses of his twinkling eyes, his wide smile. The wild rotation of the swing slows, reverses, and for a moment, I wonder if this is what it feels like to go back in time.

~ * ~

Keep reading for the first three chapters of A. D. Roland's novels!

Please join A. D. at www.facebook.com/authoradroland

A Year of You

Mattie Delacort came to terms with the fact that her biological family--the wealthy McKendrick clan--never knew she existed. When the powerful, dying matriarch draws her into a scheme to reveal all the dark family secrets, she's intrigued. If she participates, she could solve the mystery of missing child, claim her rightful place in the family--and the millions of dollars in several trust funds. After growing up in an abusive family, under the thumb of a manipulative foster brother whose terrible grip on her has extended well into adulthood, the offer of that much money gives her a chance to escape.

As she struggles to earn the reward offered to her by her wealthy maternal grandmother, her past threatens to destroy the tentative new life she is trying to build with Brant West, a passionate, moody musician. To save the man she loves, she has to reveal everything. But revealing her past will cost her everything. Mattie must make a choice, one that will either kill her or turn her into the very thing she hates the most. Will she choose her past...or her future?

A Year of You Kindle Version

What people are saying about A Year of You:

"All in all, this story offers a great mystery with enough intrigue, suspense and romance that you won't want to put the book down." ~ K. L. Wilson, Amazon Reviewer

"You will laugh, you will cry, you will smile and you will become angry for her...I could not put this book down and found myself making excuses to sit and read as often as I could, the ending was a corker! The flow of the style of writing really pulls you in and Ashley Roland has fast become one of my favourite authors!" ~ Gemma Hopgood, Amazon Reviewer

Please enjoy the first three chapters of A Year of You! Keep reading!

# 

#  Chapter One

"This isn't going to work."

"Relax, Mattie." Kirkland ran his hands through his short, perfectly-rumpled hair, utterly at ease. Mattie resisted the urge to smack the asshole up-side his supermodel-pretty head.

"Don't tell me to relax, K." She sighed and adjusted her slightly-too-snug skinny jeans one more time. "You're not the one having to con a family into believing you're a long-lost daughter."

K shook her gently by the shoulders. "You are a long-lost daughter. Just not the one they're looking for. The old woman invited you, babe."

"Don't call me that. I'm not your babe."

K's hand shot up and grabbed her throat. He held her tight, his fingertips digging in. Heart hammering, Mattie froze.

"You are mine, Mattie. You always will be." He leaned close and forced a wet, tongue-heavy kiss against her lips. "You can run across the world, and I will still find you. You can't hide from me, babe." With his other hand, he squeezed her left breast painfully hard.

A family with a bunch of little kids walked past. The mother pushed her baby into a man's arms and held her phone up. "Let her go, asshole, or I'm calling the cops!"

K dropped his hand and Mattie stepped back. The truck behind her left her with nowhere to go. The woman hadn't moved from the end of the parking space. Her husband was already on the phone with somebody. Judging from his tone, Mattie guessed it was the airport police.

"You're going to do this, Matilyn. You think I'm hurting you now or that I've hurt you before, it ain't nothing compared to what I'm going to do if you screw this up." He knocked her head back against the window of the truck. Stars spun in her eyes, and a headache flared up immediately.

"Make it easy for yourself. You go in there, find out what the old woman wants, and get my money. You've got enough on her now to get it all. I'm sure the newspapers are dying to hear about Ruth Ellen Carruther's bastard granddaughter. Another chapter to the McKendrick saga."

The only remaining daughter, Emeline, was a 'victim' of a leaked sex tape with a controversial hip-hop artist. Elaine, the McKendrick heir Mattie was supposed to be, had disappeared after her fifth birthday under suspicious circumstances. Karen McKendrick, Mattie's mother, killed herself after a dramatic battle with brain cancer. James McKendrick, Karen's husband--but not Mattie's father--was in and out of the financial pages of the newspapers, a constant rotation between doing good and on the verge of getting arrested. A surprise heir would shake things up even more.

The whoop of a siren startled K. He let her go as a police officer climbed out of the car Mattie hadn't even heard them drive up. The family moved on, but didn't leave completely. Mattie grabbed her cheap duffel bag and backpack from the ground and fled across the four lanes separating the drop-off/pick-up area from the terminals, ignoring the calls of the cop. The regional airport was small, but large enough for two terminals and a separate building for conference rooms and rental car kiosks.

Once inside the airport she dove inside the biggest knot of people she could find. Towering Japanese kids in basketball uniforms stared at her with a mix of confusion, reproach, and anger. She hurried through and ducked into the nearest bathroom.

The last stall in the darkest corner was available. She locked the door and leaned against the cold tile wall.

"Oh, dear God," she moaned into her cold hands. Tremors racked her body for a moment. "Get a grip, Mat. Just get a grip."

She pulled the plane ticket out of the envelope and checked the departure time. She had about thirty minutes to check in, make it through security and to the terminal. She'd never make it if she huddled in the bathroom like a scared kid. Then K would really come down on her. She took a deep breath. K's threats hung around her head like ghosts.

Mattie shoved the paper into her pocket and left the stall. She went to the sink and washed her hands, eyeing herself in the mirror. Her eyeliner and mascara smeared beneath her eyes, lending her the look of a goth raccoon. A wet paper towel fixed most of the damage. She reapplied her eyeliner, then the mascara.

You can do this. Get it done, and then you can disappear.

No. Molly. She couldn't leave Molly. Cute, crazy, amazing Molly.

A spark of hatred strong enough to make her want to start crying again welled up. Fucking pedophile. K messed with her since Carmen, woman who'd raised her, married his father when she was just a little older than Molly was now. He was almost eighteen. Handsome. Charming. He paid attention to her. Gave her little presents and made her laugh. When his best friend Isabelle tormented her, he was the one to hug her and make her feel better.

The day after she turned thirteen, he got her drunk on wine coolers. She woke up the next morning naked, bleeding, and, as she found out a couple months later, pregnant. K laughed. Isabelle called her a whore. When she tried to tell Carmen what happened, all she got was a, "you probably deserved it."

Even when Mattie got the nerve to tell the counselor at school what happened, Carmen, K's father, and K himself wove a convincing story about her delinquent behavior that--insert heartbreaking sobs--led to Mattie ending up in 'that situation.' No matter how far she ran or who she ran to, Carmen always dragged her back into hell.

A mother and daughter duo entered the bathroom, chattering in Dutch. The girl glanced up at Mattie and smiled shyly before her mother ushered her into a stall. Cute kid. The long blonde hair and bright blues eyes made Mattie think of Molly.

That's who I'm doing this for. Molly. Not K.

Satisfied with her makeup, Mattie left the bathroom. She melted into the people hurrying through the lobby toward the security checkpoint. Once in line, she kicked off her shoes and fished her phone out of her pocket. She made it through the line and on to the plane with a few minutes to spare.

When the plane was finally high above the earth, she slipped her earbuds in and set her ancient MP3 player to shuffle. Everybody else had slick iPods and smartphones, but nothing took the place of the tiny eight-gig Wal-Mart special she'd had for years. The soothing crash and thunder of hard alternative rock eased the tension out of her muscles. For the first time in two weeks, since K had coerced her into his devious scheme, she let herself relax. With a sigh, she leaned back against the stiff seat back.

Everything since Ruth Ellen's representative had shown up on her doorstep had been surreal. Even though she was half a country away from K, he heard about the woman's request that Mattie fly to Florida for a meeting. With plenty of threats and promises, he flashed pictures of their daughter and her adoptive family in her face, making lots of vague promises laden with threats. Mattie knew him well enough to know what he really meant when he said she'd regret it.

What had frightened her was that he knew where Molly was, and had known for a long time.

It meant he knew a lot more than she thought he did. She never would have accepted the bizarre packet of papers Ruth Ellen had sent with her personal lawyer if K hadn't been right beside her on the couch, arm around her shoulders. Only she knew he wasn't being brotherly. The aching grip of his hand on her shoulder was a threat in itself.

For four years she had managed to avoid him, but in the space of a day, her hard-earned life crashed down around her ears. K left her shaking inside, nearly mindless with fear of what he could do to Molly and the Thompsons.

From now on, she wasn't Matilyn Delacourt. Ruth Ellen's representative never told them completely what the woman wanted, other than she wanted to see Mattie, and as long as she was in Florida, she had to pretend to be yet another McKendrick daughter.

She was Elaine McKendrick. Elaine, she said in her head, over and over again. The fake ID in her wallet said Matilyn Smith. Another name to keep straight. Ruth Ellen wanted her to use a different name, a new identity, so that when McKendrick ran his background checks, his investigator wouldn't find out about her past easily.

Someone jostled her arm. She jumped and jerked away from the warm contact. "Sorry," the guy in the seat next to her said. "Hi."

"Hi." Reluctantly, she plucked the earbuds from her ears. The insanely gorgeous eyes left her mind blank and her cheeks on fire.

"I'm West." He extended his hand to her. Numbly, she shook it.

"Mattie. I'm Mattie."

"Where are you headed to, Mattie?"

"Daytona Beach." Live the lie.

"Really. That's interesting. I'm going to good ole' DB as well. Who're you going to see? Maybe I know them."

"Um, I don't really know you..."

"I'm not a stalker. I swear. Scout's honor." He grinned, charming her with a million-watt smile.

"Um, the McKendricks," she said.

"James McKendrick? Ruth Ellen?" Mattie felt sick. She pasted a cheery smile on her face and nodded. She wanted to puke. "Yeah! That's them. I just found out James is my biological father. Ruth Ellen wants to meet me."

"No shit! You're Elaine, then. What a small world!" He turned toward her, grinning. She didn't like the intensity of his eyes. Way too intense. They bored into hers, turning into a bowl of quivering jelly and a sack of nerves at the same time. The smile on his lips didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm that Elaine."

"Well, Elaine. I'm a close family friend. I was stunned to hear about you. We've all thought you were dead for twenty-something years." She might be mistaken, but that looked like pain in his eyes. She'd relied on her instinct when it came to reading people. Everything about the man warned her to be careful.

His damn smile was way too disarming.

"You did?" That was news. As far as she knew, the real Elaine vanished in the middle of the night when she was five or six.

"Yeah. What else would we think? You disappeared in the middle of the night."

Mattie shrugged. "I just thought I was adopted. It was a pretty big surprise for me, too."

"Ruth Ellen's pretty sick." His eyes turned predatory. A little chill of fear made goose bumps pop out up and down Mattie's arms. "Bet that money of hers sounds pretty sweet."

"I'm not doing this to make a dime, Mr. West. I just want to find my roots. My mom died a few years ago, and I want to get to know my real family. I don't want to hurt anybody."

He nodded, a satisfied expression on his face that did nothing to dilute the piercing quality of his eyes. She knew without a doubt that she had to be careful around this guy.

"Is West your first name?" That should change the subject.

"No. My first name is Brant. When I was in middle school, teacher started calling me by my last name, and it stuck." He laughed, a rich sound that made her smile, too, despite her instinctual fear of the man. "Sounds awesome when you're in a band, though."

"You're in a band?"

"Lead singer for a little local cover band."

"That's cool."

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. Without asking, he tugged the cord from her earbuds from her MP3 player and plugged it into his phone. He scrolled through the menus and finally tapped 'play.'

The voice crooning one of her favorite Breaking Benjamin songs, "Rain," made her jaw drop in surprise. He had an edge to his voice, a gentle rasp, and he sang with the passion of a heartbroken angel. He started to remove the earbud cord after a few seconds, but she stopped him with a soft touch.

"Wait."

The longer she listened, the bigger his smile got. When the song ended and she pulled the earbuds from her ears, she wasn't sure if she should go all fan-girl on him, or play it cool.

"Ho-ly crap, Mr. West," she said, breathless. "Is that really you?"

He smirked and cleared his throat. He thought for a second and launched into the chorus. When he was done, half the airplane broke out in applause.

His voice did things to her that she hadn't experienced in years. Heart aflutter, she grinned back at him. "I don't even know what to say. That was amazing. Why aren't you singing for some huge record label."

"I'm content with my life as it is. My band plays a few concerts a month at small venues or weddings or whatever, and I can run my business without aspirations of fame and fortune getting in the way."

"I don't blame you. A quiet life is all I want."

Despite all his banter and laughter, his piercing, suspicious gaze didn't let up. She took a second to look him over. He wasn't a bad looking guy, just a notch above ordinary. His hair was an unusual color stuck somewhere between copper and brown and dark blond. The sun, flashing off the wings of the plane, made his natural golden highlights shift and change. His eyelashes were the same prismatic blond-copper-brown. His eyes were the most striking of his features. They were the color of a deep lake, and in the depths of those dark gray-blue colors, a storm brewed. Bright gold flecks twinkled in his irises.

The way he filled out his vintage Star Wars T-shirt and ragged, faded jeans didn't bother her one bit. He was tall and lean, with broad shoulders and wiry, corded muscles flexed in his arm. He passed her earbud cord back to her. She tucked the MP3 player into her pocket. "You've spoiled me for other men," she joked.

"After we land," he asked, "what're your plans?"

"I was just going to grab a taxi and go see my grandmother."

"I'll drive you, as long as you don't mind stopping by your father's place on the way out. My car's at the airport."

"Oh, no I don't want to put you out. I wasn't really planning on seeing him--them--until I'd spoken with Ruth Ellen."

"It's where I'm headed. Me and your sister, we're almost engaged." A rock dropped in her stomach. Amazed by her automatic, disappointed response, she forced another smile.

"That's great. I'm excited to get to know her."

"Emeline." He sighed. "She's a real sweetheart. An absolutely amazing woman. I love her so much." For the first time the blazing arrows of suspicion stopped firing from his eyes. He squinted at her, studying her. "You don't look much like her."

"Sorry. I guess I got the short end of the genetic stick." Did he just insult her? She wasn't anything special--dark blonde hair, grayish-blue eyes, maybe a bit on the curvy side--but she'd never considered herself unattractive. She'd seen Emeline in the tabloids for a while after her sex tape leaked. She was gorgeous. Tall, willowy, perfect. Karen had been gorgeous as well.

My dad was probably the milkman.

Anyway, it didn't matter. All she had to do was make nice with the family, figure out how to get the money for K, and Elaine McKendrick would drop back off the face of the Earth.

West watched her for another long moment. "They've been through a lot, Mattie. If you're out to try something shady, they'll figure you out."

Mattie scowled at him. "I don't need or want their money. I don't have a lot of my own money, but it's enough to survive." Mad at him, she turned toward the window and jammed the earbuds back in her ears. She hated it when people doubted her. Nothing ruined a day quicker. Underestimated all the time, it had affected her entire life. She fumbled with the plug before finally getting it back into the MP3 player. She hit the play button and Godsmack roared in her ears.

K underestimated her now. The further away from him she went, the more confident she became. There was a plan forming in her mind, one that would get her away from him for good. The only reason she was doing this one last job was to pave the way for her final escape. Maybe it wouldn't even have to involve any sort of scam. There was always the possibility that Ruth Ellen was feeling guilty about sending her bastard oldest granddaughter off with a well-paid maid and wanted to recompense her somehow.

She really didn't want to hurt anyone ever again, in any way, and avoiding any sort of illegal activity was always a plus. What she was leaving behind broke her heart, but it was necessary. Molly and her family were so much safer if Mattie was far, far away. Everybody she loved was safest when she was far, far away.

***

The barking orders of the flight attendant woke her up. Mattie sat up straight, startled. For a second she wasn't sure where she was.

"You okay?" West said, raising an eyebrow. "Buckle up. We're landing."

"Yeah." She sat back and buckled in. After tucking her MP3 player into her backpack, she bit her lip and waited for the nerve-jarring impact of the plane's landing gear against the tarmac.

To her immense relief, the plane didn't careen off the runway or burst into flame. West tagged along behind her as she headed the exit.

"So, am I giving you a ride or what?" he asked. "Wait a sec." He stopped at Baggage and waited for his bag to cycle around. Mattie looked toward the doors, wondering if she should just ditch the guy and go on her own. She had Ruth Ellen's address in her back pocket.

He bumped into her when he lurched forward to snag his bag before it drifted out of reach. He missed and plowed through a group of men in suits and power ties to grab it. "Come on. It'll be better this way. I know the family. Trust me."

"Yeah, but—"

"Save yourself some cash, Miss Moneybags. Taxis aren't cheap here." Before she could protest, he took her suitcase from her and loped off into the bustle of the airport.

# Chapter Two

"It's nothing fancy," West warned the curvy stranger who claimed to be Elaine McKendrick. Granted, the Elaine he remembered was perpetually five years old, but she had white-blonde hair that fell in tight ringlets all around her heart-shaped face.

Over the last twenty years, he'd memorized the little girl's features. He was sure he'd know her the minute he saw her, just as sure as he recognized his own face in the mirror. At the airport, he'd watched the crowd around the terminal, desperate for a glance of a fair-eyed beauty.

James McKendrick made sure he'd purchased a seat next to Matilyn Smith, the soon-to-be-outed imposter. When West sat down next to the curvy woman, he'd been surprised.

She'd looked nothing like Emeline at first.

The more he watched her, though, the more he could pick out things that reminded him of Karen McKendrick. The way she scrunched up her nose when she was frustrated with the seatbelt. The shape of her hands and fingers. The astonished look that crossed her face when she listened to his song.

When he boarded the airplane he'd been certain he could tell if she was just another con artist. There'd been so many over the years. Idiots, really, since the first thing the family did was order DNA tests. Hair could be bleached, features surgically altered, histories created. DNA didn't lie.

The woman who claimed to be Elaine raised an eyebrow at his beat-up thirty-year-old Ford truck. She wasn't very tall—height was a trademark trait in the McKendrick family—and she had abundant curves that made him wonder what she'd feel like pressed tight against him. Those breasts, hips.... He banished the thought, seeking a mental image of his Emeline. Willowy, super-model beautiful, Emeline.

There were a few things about this Mattie that were vaguely familiar. The tilt of her wide blue-gray eyes, the way she crinkled her brow in her sleep. He'd spent most of the flight staring at her, trying to find any resemblance. There was something in her laugh that sounded vaguely like Emeline.

McKendrick had sent him to Atlanta to watch this newcomer. McKendrick had killer instincts. West had long ago learned not to doubt his judgment calls. If McKendrick thought something was up, then something was up.

He put his suitcase and her grungy duffel bag into the bed of the truck. "It'll fall out!" the woman exclaimed, pointing at the gaping hole. "Nah." He reached down and tugged the sheet of plywood back over the hole. He used a big chunk of concrete and a bag of potting soil as an anchor. "See?"

The woman laughed and made a helpless gesture with her hands. "If you say so." She reached for the passenger door. She pulled hard and glanced up. "Is it locked?"

"Nah, there's a trick." He gripped it, put his foot up on the side of the truck and leaned back hard.

The door opened with a loud, rusty clunk. "You need a new truck," she commented as she climbed upside, slightly disconcerted by the lack of a running board to use as a step.

West patted the faded, bubbling blue paint on the truck bed. "This one was my dad's. He died a few years back. Can't bring myself to get rid of it. You have to give that seatbelt a great big yank. It sticks."

She did and the whole thing popped out of the metal wall and smacked into her temple. She yelped and clasped her hand to the side of her head, still hanging on to the seatbelt.

"Oh, crap, are you all right? Let me see?" West leaned over and tried to pull her hand away from her head.

"I'm fine; it just startled me." She moved her hand. "I'm all right, really."

He bit back his chuckle, but he couldn't hide his grin. "The A/C doesn't work."

"Can't say I'm surprised," she quipped, pulling her shoulder-length, dark blonde hair into a ponytail. Nothing like the Mckendrick's, so far. Every single one of them were white-blonde.

Her eyes, though. They were hauntingly familiar. Emeline's eyes were nearly the same color, beneath her baby-blue contact lenses. Maybe the shape of her lips echoed Karen's as well.

He rolled his window down. "That one doesn't work."

She raised an eyebrow. "How'd I guess?"

He navigated the horrendous parking lots and pulled out on to a busy highway. To her left was a huge structure she recognized as the Daytona Speedway.

"Ever been to the races?" he asked, hoping to get her to start talking. He didn't know much about her story, other than she didn't remember much before her sixth birthday. She'd grown up in Atlanta.

"Me? No. Not my thing. But it's big up in Atlanta. Everybody's a NASCAR fan. I don't care too much for it." She reached up and fiddled with her necklace. It was a tiny silver baby pacifier with a sparkly pink crystal nipple.

"NASCAR too good for you?" he joked. She rolled her eyes. "All right then, what do you care for?"

She thought about it for a moment. "Music, books, reading, movies. Nothing real exciting."

"Sports?"

"What're those?" she said with a smile. West drove over the Seabreeze Bridge. Mattie craned her neck, trying to see out the window to see down at the river. "Wow. It's beautiful."

"The Halifax River. When we were kids, my dad would take us out on his boat."

"We?" she asked, turning curious eyes on him. "You knew me?"

"Yeah. I'm a year older than you. We were inseparable, until—" He cut off abruptly, not wanting to remember, not wanting to dredge up the memories of those awful days after she vanished. He didn't want to recall the nightmares that plagued his sleep until his teenage years. The night Elaine vanished, he swore he saw something out his bedroom window. Of course, it had just been a dream. Even now, though, as an adult, he had trouble convincing himself that he hadn't seen a man carrying away a little girl in a white nightgown. For the longest time he'd been convinced it was Elaine. The older he got the more he doubted himself and his own instincts. Ruth Ellen asked him over and over again to look for Elaine, but it was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

Looking at this stranger out of the corner of his eye, he felt a faint flutter of hope, like the final spasms of a dying butterfly.

"Until?" Mattie prompted.

"Until it happened. You disappeared." He shrugged. Hopefully she'd take the hint and let the subject drop. She fiddled with her necklace through her shirt but kept her mouth shut.

The McKendricks lived in one of the biggest, fanciest houses along the river. Two stories tall and designed like a Mediterranean villa, it graced the covers of countless local and architectural magazines. West did the landscaping and lawn maintenance himself, so he thought it was absolutely perfect. It was the greenest in the neighborhood.

West hated the hous. It was too perfect. Not even a blade of grass dared to wave in an opposite direction. Every flower seemed symmetrical. The pine needles and oak leaves from the ancient towering trees didn't even dare fall on the lawn. Mr. McKendrick insisted on it, and paid extra to make sure not a single leaf stayed on the ground.

West pulled up to the gate and punched his code into the keypad. A second later the heavy black iron gate rolled open.

"Oh my gosh, wow," Mattie breathed. She looked a little pale. Her fingers went back to the necklace.

"Home sweet home, Mattie," West said, gauging her reaction carefully. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he would prove this woman wasn't Elaine McKendrick.

He wasn't going to lose Elaine all over again. They had only been children, but she had been his best friend. She haunted his dreams, still, and this woman wasn't going to sully those memories.

***

A tall, willowy woman emerged from the courtyard gate, gazing inquisitively toward the truck. The way the ornate architecture framed her and the brilliant blossoms of the plants growing in front of it suggested it was all done specifically to frame the woman. Mattie squelched the urge to roll her eyes when the woman posed dramatically.

West gestured to the door. "You have to sort of push against the door real hard to get it open." He hopped out his side and hurried to the waiting woman, who gracefully turned away from a kiss and only half-assed the hug. Hmm. That must be Emeline. Mattie got the definite vibe, even from a distance, that the relationship wasn't exactly what West thought it was.

Mattie threw her weight against the door. It didn't even budge, but it felt like she'd knocked her shoulder out of joint.

She pulled the lever and braced her foot on the door. "One, two, three," she counted to herself, shoving all her weight into her leg.

The door flew open, and she flew out, tumbling to the brick-tiled driveway. She skinned her palms, scrubbed her knees hard against the bricks, and whacked the back of her head on the bottom of the door. She stopped the door with her hand before it could swing back and smack her in the face.

"You all right?" West called when she finally popped up.

"Just peachy." I can do this. Just got to fool them for a little while. She smoothed her clothes and headed for the angelically beautiful woman hanging on West's arm. She hoped they wouldn't dally long here. She needed to get to the assisted living facility to see Ruth Ellen.

"You're Elaine?" the woman asked.

Mattie smiled. "So they tell me. Please, call me Mattie."

"Mattie. Sounds like some old woman's name."

Momentarily set back by the weakly disguised insult, Mattie shrugged. "My name's Matilyn."

"Madeline. Not so bad."

"No, Matilyn, with a 'T.' You must be Emeline." The ornate wrought iron, glass, and wood doors across the courtyard opened. A tall, imposing man with white-blonde hair slicked back strode across the courtyard. How in the world was she going to pass as a member of this family? She looked nothing like them.

She and Emeline might share some genes, but Mattie's were obviously deeply recessive. The man emerged from the courtyard and stopped. His cool blue eyes flicked up and down Mattie.

"Elaine." He sounded breathless. She didn't miss the glance he cast at West. For the first time she wondered if it had been a set up. She tensed, wondering if West had seen her with K. Mr. McKendrick didn't seem the slightest bit surprised to see her arrive with the other man.

She was pretty sure it hadn't been a coincidence.

McKendrick held his hand out to her. Showtime, she thought taking it. McKendrick held her at arms' length, looking her up and down once more.

"I would never have recognized you," he said. "You're absolutely...pretty."

Being around these people is going to kill my self-esteem. What little bit I have left, anyway.

"Come in." McKendrick led her through the fabulous courtyard, then into the house. The house looked more like something out of a home-and-garden magazine than a lived-in home.

"You have a beautiful home."

"Yes, I do. I've worked hard for it." Odd statement.

"It's lovely." Another woman—another spitting image of Mr. McKendrick—glided into the foyer.

"This is your Aunt Justine. Do you remember her?"

"I really don't remember anything from my childhood."

"Convenient," Emeline whispered from behind her. Mattie flashed a glance over her shoulder. Her 'sister' stared back with icy blue eyes filled with suspicion.

"Emeline," McKendrick chided without the slightest hint of conviction.

The younger woman hung on West's arm. "Sorry, daddy."

Justine glided forward. She took Mattie's hand in both of hers. "My dear, it's an absolute miracle to have you home again. We're so happy you've come home at last."

"Thank you. I'm glad to be here."

The older woman hugged her. The embrace was tight, but it felt cold.

Instinct tugged at Mattie's heart, urging her to get out as quick as possible. She didn't like the way Justine and Mr. McKendrick kept glancing at one another. It set off alarms in her head. What did she expect, though? Ruth Ellen said half a dozen women had claimed to be Elaine over the years. It was only natural that they doubt her until proven otherwise.

The aloof family ushered her deeper into the cool, too-perfect-to-live-in home. Each room was as impersonal as the last. Justine prattled on and on about how much the family had missed her, how much money had been spent on private investigators.

"We had long ago given up hope," she said. "Then Ruth Ellen told us she'd found you."

The little entourage stopped in a small round room with just a few luxuriously padded benches. The room had a hushed, reverent atmosphere, like a chapel in a hospital.

Mr. McKendrick stepped forward and pulled a curtain away from a painted portrait on the wall.

A tiny girl with white-blonde hair gazed down at her from the canvas. The room gave her the creeps. Mattie rubbed at the chillbumps on her arms. A dozen gold-framed photos of the same little girl littered the narrow, curved table beneath the portrait. Mattie released the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

This was the real Elaine. Light-haired, blue-eyed, already tall and thin. At three years old, she already had the haughty look Emeline wore engrained on her sweet little face. It struck her, then, the uncanny resemblance of the girl in the photo to herself as a child.

Justine picked up a small framed photo and pressed it into her hands. "You are so utterly different than we could ever have imagined."

Mattie nodded, completely speechless. The urge to run screamed incessantly in her head. James McKendrick's face was unreadable, ever-shifting emotions racing across his chiseled patrician features.

"I have this," Mattie said. Her voice stuck in her throat.

These people, there were family. Granted, they thought she was someone else, but, still, they were blood. She reached into her backpack and pulled out the photo album. Ruth Ellen had given it to her half-full, and she'd added a few other pictures of herself at various ages, including a couple of herself at the same ages as Elaine. Even K couldn't tell the difference in the two children.

McKendrick took it. His hands shook as he flipped the pages. Justine looked over his arm. "That was at the old house."

"The farm."

"The beach, that year."

Justine swallowed hard. Tear filled her eyes, but Mattie couldn't detect anything other than fear in her face. "Where did you get these photos?"

"My adoptive mother had them. I found them after she died."

Abruptly, he reached out and touched her cheek, stroked her hair. "You do favor Karen."

"She was my mother," Mattie said with a timid shrug. McKendrick gripped her chin and turned her face up. He squinted at her.

"Your eyes. You have her eyes."

Karen's or Elaine's? Mattie allowed the man to turn her face this way and that. She struggled to suppress the terror that came with that type of touch. K used it to make her submit.

"Six other women have tried to claim my daughter's money," he said as he released her. "All of them, I've turned away at the door. My mother-in-law orchestrated your visit, so it's only out of respect for the last wish of a dying woman that I'm following through with this."

Mattie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and held her chin high. "I know who I am, Mr. McKendrick. I'm Ruth Ellen's granddaughter."

McKendrick pressed his thin lips together and nodded. "You look enough like Karen to fool anyone at a glance." He looked toward West, then held up the photo album. "These...I'm not entirely sure they're real. The only way I'm going to believe you're my daughter is with the results of a blood test."

"I understand." Mattie took the photo album and tucked it back into her bag. "I'm willing to go to whatever means you deem necessary to prove that I'm part of this family."

***

In the sacred room, West knew without a doubt the woman wasn't Elaine. The scared-rabbit look in her eyes gave her away. A true daughter would be joyous, ecstatic. Discovering her family possessed the wealth of the McKendricks would have a paraplegic spontaneously healing.

This woman barely even batted an eye. West could see the fear deep in her eyes, but she held her head up as she braved McKendrick's scrutiny. He had to give her kudos for that. The older man could be downright intimidating. When she'd handed over the photo album, McKendrick seemed shaken. West wished he'd been able to see the pictures.

McKendrick led the way out of the alcove, one hand under Mattie's elbow. They were going to his office to go over the next step in the process of verifying her identity. West hung back, lost in thought. Em came back into the alcove. A troubled expression put a little wrinkle between her eyes.

"Those pictures," she said quietly. "West, those were pictures of Elaine."

"She can't be Elaine, Em."

"You didn't see the pictures."

She wasn't Elaine, but she fit into this family somehow, someway. Whether it was a legitimate blood tie or one of Ruth Ellen's complicated schemes, he couldn't figure out.

The imposter stared at the enormous portrait. West hated her for that moment. No one had been happier to learn their Elaine was coming back to them than he. The little girl lost had fueled his every day for the last twenty years—until Emeline had become his life's breath.

The minute he saw her in that terminal, he'd known. There was no way this woman was a child of James McKendrick's.

Her eyes were too warm—damn the similar shape—her cheeks too rosy. She lacked their stature, and had far too many curves.

What would her hips feel like under my hands?

His brain took him to some crazy place where he was kissing her and she was biting his earlobe, begging him to sing to her. He shook his head to dispell the thoughts and hoped Em wouldn't notice the beginnings of his erection. He adjusted his pants and followed Emeline to McKendrick's office.

***

The woman in the bed wasn't yet seventy, but she looked ancient. Her skin hung in thin folds and wrinkles, and most of her hair had fallen out. She was skeletal, the white blankets resting loosely over her form, exaggerating the lack of flesh.

Mattie knocked softly on the doorframe. "Hello?"

The emaciated woman on the bed opened her glazed eyes and managed a weak smile. "Evelyn?" Her voice was nothing more than a rough whisper.

"No, I'm Mattie," Mattie answered, edging into the room. Ruth Ellen Carruther's bed was raised high, mostly for ease of care by her nurses in the facility. Mattie set the vase of colorful daises on the nightstand near a spray of withering roses. She glimpsed the card stuck in the dying flowers. West's name was scribbled near the bottom.

What a sweet guy. She suppressed a smile and turned her attention to Ruth Ellen.

Ruth Ellen's eyes bore into hers and swept every inch of her face and form. She sighed after a long moment. "Karen named you Evelyn."

"I—" Dear Lord, not another name!

"I told Carmen not to change your name. What was she thinking, calling you 'Mattie'?"

"It's actually Matilyn."

"I know what your name is. Evelyn Claire Carruther. I wasn't even sure who your father was. Karen named you Evelyn after her grandmother, but she vowed you'd never be called by it." Ruth Ellen Carruther sighed and shifted her shoulders against the pillows. "It doesn't matter. All that matters is you're going to be Elaine for me." The woman looked stronger suddenly. Her eyes lost the vacant glazed look. "My Elaine is dead. I know it in my heart. He killed her."

"Who?"

"My son-in-law." Shocked, Mattie reeled back half a step. "Why? When?"

"Money. Jealousy. Anger. Hatred. You see, like you, she wasn't his child. She was the product of an indiscretion of Karen's." Ruth Ellen's color improved, her sunken cheeks pinking. Her voice grew more confident. "I know who you are, Matilyn Delacourt. I know your history. I know about the man you conned in Reno. I know about the year you spent in jail, and the technicality you got off on for the other incident."

At the mention of her past, Mattie choked on her own saliva. "Kirkland made me do all that. I don't want to hurt anyone. I have never wanted to hurt anybody."

"I don't care about that. My life is just about over, but I refuse to die and let the bastard my daughter married get away with taking the only thing I ever loved away from me. Losing Elaine nearly killed me."

"What do you want me to do?" Nearly breathless, Mattie sank into the bedside chair.

"Find Elaine. She's somewhere on Brant's property. I'm the only one that believed the poor boy when he said he'd seen someone outside his window." Ruth Ellen slumped against her pillows, paling considerably. "You aren't McKendrick's child, so you won't inherit his money. You will, however, inherit a substantial portion of your mother's estate, as well as mine. When you find Elaine's body, I will make sure you are rewarded."

More money than K even thought I'd get. He'd estimated a low six-figure amount. Relief beat hard in Mattie's heart. "I don't want anyone other than lawyers and us to know the exact amount." Mattie licked her dry lips. "How will I find Elaine?"

"Ask Brant. Talk to Brant." She opened her eyes once more. "You're so much better for him than that Emeline. My own granddaughter, and I can't stand her. Go on now. If you don't find her before I die, I won't finalize the changes to my will or release the letter that absolves you from any sort of fraud. We need to meet again next week. My lawyer will join us, and we'll finalize the details."

Her eyes closed tight again, and even when Mattie whispered her name, Ruth Ellen didn't respond.

Slowly, disappointed, Mattie left the room. She had so many questions, so many things she needed to know.

If she and Elaine were both illegitimate, why had she been abandoned? Why had Elaine been allowed to stay?

Had Karen ever wondered about her? Wanted her back? Had she ever cared at all? Mattie sat down on a sun-warmed bench outside the front doors and waited for West to return to pick her up. Moments after she sat down, her cell phone rang. "Hello?"

"How's the reunion, hot stuff?"

"Shut up, K. And it's going. That's all I can say. Nothing's happening."

"Got the money yet?"

"K, I've been here all of a day! McKendrick is talking blood tests and all sorts of things. Did you think they would just let me walk in, write me a check, and let me walk back out? People have tried to scam them before. They aren't easy marks."

When K spoke, his voice was bitter, angry. Mattie felt a tingle of fear in her belly. If K had been physically close to her, she'd never speak like that to him. Her hands shook just thinking about what he would do to her. Only when she was far away from K did she lose the mindless dependence and numbing fear. For a while, she could be herself, try to find the bits of herself that had been lost over the years. After she argued with K for a little longer and listened to his veiled threats without a single flutter of fear, she promised him results in a week and hung up. A woman with long white-blonde hair walked by. Her hair gleamed silver-white in the sunlight, reminding Mattie of Emeline's hair. My sister.

All her life she'd known about Emeline. Emeline was the pretty one. The one everybody loved and fawned over. Emeline the model, the actress. The socialite. She hung out with young Hollywood starlets and rubbed shoulders with seasoned celebrities. Carmen made sure she knew where she came from, and why she wasn't there anymore. Money was Carmen's driving force in life.

K rubbed it in that Emeline had grown up in the fancy house with everything money could buy. He saved clippings from magazines and society pages about her little sister.

Mattie only wanted to know where she came from. The money only mattered because it was a way to get away from K.

She just wanted the family. The mother. The father. The sister. People who loved her.

West's beat-up old truck pulled into the circular drive. Mattie stood up and waited by the curb, still half-lost in her thoughts.

She pried at the door but couldn't get it open. West kicked it open and waited for her to climb in. "How'd it go?" he asked.

Mattie shrugged. "As well as can be expected, I suppose. She wants to see me again next week, with her lawyer." She sighed and rested her head against the window.

"It's a little overwhelming."

"I bet. It's been a hell of a day so far. Want to get something to eat?" Mattie nodded, her eyes closed. This wasn't the usual con, and it was more than she could integrate at the moment. She needed a little while, a little separation from everything.

"Thanks for driving me out here."

"No big deal. "

She fought the big lump in her throat and the tears building up behind her eyes. Go away, just go away, she pleaded silently with her damn gooey emotions. The blasted sob worked its way out of her throat, as strangled as it was. Embarrassed, she buried her face in her hands.

"You okay?" West asked.

Mattie nodded and stared out the window, not seeing a thing. Tears ran down her cheeks anyway. Turning her back to West, she rested her arms on the door and buried her face within. The truck chugged to a stop. He shut off the engine. A warm hand touched her back and patted gently. "Hey, it's okay," he said. Mattie turned around and gazed at him startled by his concern. For the last few hours, he'd been her constant shadow, but he'd been silent and distant, completely distrusting.

"Why do you care?" Mattie asked. Was his compassion a trick?

"I'm not a total asshole."

Mattie shook her head, swiping at her tears with the heels of her hands and hoping her mascara wasn't running too bad. "I'm fine. It's just a lot to take in. That's my grandmother. And I met my sister and...I don't know how to handle this stuff."

West chewed on his bottom lip, eyeing her. "You're so sure they're yours." He plucked a tissue out of a squashed box crammed between the back of the seat and the flat back window and handed it to her. Mattie swabbed her face and blew her nose.

"I've always known who they are," she said. "This really is just a lot. I've always known about Karen and Ruth Ellen and Emeline, and now that I'm here it's just...overwhelming."

She hated the way his stunning eyes never lost their suspicious gaze when he was around her. "I bet. You knew about them? You told me on the plane you had only recently found out."

Mattie felt a flutter of nervousness in her belly. Anxiety wrapped around her chest, squeezing tight. She shrugged. "I didn't know you. I still don't, really. I'm not going to blurt out my hellacious childhood to a stranger."

West cocked himself sideways in the driver's seat and eyed her again. "Well, we're not strangers now. Why don't you go ahead and get it all off your chest?"

"No. It's none of your business. The people who need to know my past already know it." Mattie crossed her arms over her chest and stared straight ahead. He had parked them in the parking lot of a shopping center. People swarmed out of a Beall's Outlet that was going out of business, laden down with bags of discount junk.

"I'm a lot more important than you think, Matilyn," West said firmly.

"Don't call me Matilyn. I'm Mattie."

"Does it matter, Matilyn?" She heard K's hateful tones in West's voice every time he said her full name. It brought up tears again. "Stop it!"

"Matilyn."

"You are being really immature! I hate that name."

"I'm sure the hell not calling you Elaine."

"I didn't ask you to. Just stop calling me Matilyn. You're being such a bastard."

West started the truck and wheeled out of the parking lot at high speed. Mattie gasped and clung to the dash to keep from sliding across the slick vinyl seat. "Never said I was a nice guy."

"You could pretend to be."

"What, like you're pretending to be Karen's kid?"

"Karen was my mother, West."

"Uh huh. I bet. Don't you feel even the remotest sense of guilt for trying to screw that sick, dying woman out of her money?" He glared at her as he drove, only breaking the biting stare to glance at the road once in a while.

"Ruth Ellen is my grandmother! You'll see, you arrogant prick, when they do the DNA tests. Then you can just sit and spin."

West rolled his eyes. "Where do you want to eat?"

"Eat? Fuck you, dude. Take me back to McKendrick's house."

"Nope. I have to stop by my place first and take care of some business. I told you this morning, I had things to do and you could tag along."

"They live like five miles that way." She pointed out the window. "You said you live like twenty miles in the other direction. Wouldn't it be easier to just take me back?"

"Yeah. Thing is, I'm sort of the gatekeeper for the family. I don't know you and I don't trust you. If you want to get to them, you have to get through me."

You are such an asshole."

"Yep. It's my middle name. Brant A. West." He radiated a complicated sense of anger and hurt. Mattie held on tight as he zipped into a Burger King drive-through and ordered three Whoppers, fries, and two drinks. After he paid the cashier and she handed him the food, he tossed the bags into Mattie's lap so he could dig a plastic cupholder out from behind the seat. He got it situated on the console hump between the seats, then grabbed one of the bags from Mattie.

Mattie almost laughed at him trying to drive and eat the loaded Whopper. Lettuce, tomato, and globs of mayonnaise and ketchup dripped out every time he tried to raise the thing to his lips.

After the third near-miss with oncoming traffic, he grunted a few disgusted curses.

"Let me help you," Mattie said, taking the gooey hamburger and the wrapper from him. Their hands touched, and Mattie forced away the little electric thrill that raced through her.

I can't deny he's a good-looking guy. When he's mad, he's even hotter. To make things even worse, the hotter he got, the hotter she got. It had been years since a man even tweaked her interest.

She pulled all the hanging bits of lettuce away from the bun and wrapped the wrapper around the bottom half of the burger. Handing it back to him, she was surprised when he grunted, "Thanks."

"No problem. Can I have one of these?" She gestured to the bag.

"Whatever."

Assuming he meant it was okay and mentally telling him to go screw himself if it wasn't, Mattie ate half of one of the Whoppers. When she wrapped the rest of it back up, West commented, "You're a cheap date."

"A real treasure."

# Chapter Three

The drive to his place seemed to take forever. Finally he pulled up to a gate off the highway. A big sign attached to the fence read EME Floral and Landscaping.

"E-M-E?" Mattie asked.

"Say it like 'emmie.' Means a couple things. Elaine, Emeline. My mom's name was Moira."

"Oh."

West drove down the long, winding private road, stopping to wave at a few people standing outside a double row of trailers. "I rent to my workers," he said, pointing at the trailers. "Occasionally if something's open, to anybody that needs a place. During the slow seasons the rent keeps EME afloat."

"Cool." She had a feeling the slow seasons occurred most of the year. "Want to see the rest of the place?" She couldn't refuse when she heard the boyish pride in his voice. "Sure." As he navigated slowly over a maze of bumpy, deeply-rutted dirt roads, he pointed out each feature of his business. "Over there is the fernery. It's pretty small, mostly because I can't afford to hire enough people to work it. This is the retail/wholesale nursery. It does pretty well and I use everything I grow out here in my landscaping and lawn maintenance business. See all those big piles of mulch, rock, and sand? I sell all that stuff, too. The mulch and stone is pretty much a steady business."

"Emeline makes it out like you're barely making it." In fact, the few conversations she'd had with her sister involved her whining about how poor West was, and how he couldn't ever afford to do, like, anything, and she was always, like, the one paying the bill and whatever.

West shrugged as he pulled up to a square concrete building, then backed up until he was within range of a big bright blue trailer that Mattie assumed was full of lawn stuff. "There are times during the year when I don't do so hot. The bigger outfits have their years of experience and all behind them. Me, I've only been around a few years. I have my steady clients, but my business is mostly word-of- mouth. My lawn maintenance honestly does the best, and my SBA advisor has always said I should focus on it instead of all this."

"Why do you then?"

West got out of the truck and went around to the back of it. Mattie watched him hitch the trailer up. "Mostly because the nursery and all was my dad's dream. I can't stand the thought of letting it die."

"There's a difference between letting something die of failure, and letting it die a noble death," Mattie said.

"I can't let it go. It has potential. It's just a matter of finding the right wholesalers."

He checked the contents of the trailer, then gestured for Mattie to follow him into the concrete building. "Look over there and grab a few pairs of the gloves and those big trimmers off the peg-board there."

The weight of the hedge clippers surprised Mattie, and she nearly dropped them as she was lifting them off the hook. West's strong arm shot over her shoulder and grabbed them a second before she knocked herself silly.

"Careful, there."

Standing so close, she could smell his musky, warm cologne and his Whopper-breath. She could feel his body heat, even in the stifling little shed.

"Listen," he said softly, not moving. "I'm an asshole. I'm sorry about some of the things I said to you earlier."

"It's okay," she replied, half-dizzy from his closeness. Something about this man attracted her like a bug to a Bug-Zapper. The closer she got, the more intense the burn. "I understand people have tried to take advantage of the McKendricks. I'm not one of them. I'm pretty much alone in the world, and it would be nice to know I have family, somewhere."

He gave her an odd look before taking the trimmers from her. He her back out of the shed. Locking the door, he instructed her to put the gloves in the trailer. She did as he asked. He hefted an edger to his shoulder. The muscles flexed in his arms, his chest.

"You okay?" he asked, grinning. Mattie felt blood flush her cheeks. She was so nervous she couldn't get the passenger door open. West stepped up behind her when she couldn't get it and did it for her, brushing against her, flustering her to the point that her hands shook.

A man hasn't affected me like this in ages. Actually, ever. To her, a man being attracted to her usually meant she was in the wrong place, and it would end badly.

Mattie clambered awkwardly into the truck and took a big, cooling gulp of her soda. Parts of her that had been in a life-long hibernation were roaring to life, and it wasn't the most comfortable feeling.

The worst part of it was the man that was affecting her so intensely was her sister's boyfriend. This ain't going to end well.

Especially since he had flirted right back.

Dark Consort by A. D. Roland

Ruler of a withering kingdom, Ceron has come to terms with the fact that the only way to save his country is to carry on with one of his ancestors' worst traditions--the kidnapping and sacrifice of a mage to revive the dying magic of Aichinn. Through his short reign, he's fought hard to bury his hateful legacy and create a new, peaceful rule. The demons that have plagued his bloodline, however, have other plans. Vile plans. They want blood and war, death and destruction. Even as he fights them, tooth and nail, he realizes he can't fight them forever.

Kaeda just can't get it right. A healer mage in the lush, bountiful Northlands, no matter of training seems to awaken more than a trickle of her magic. When the mysterious visitor from a southern state offers her an escape from the looming banishment, she takes him up without a second thought. Unfortunately, the stranger isn't who he says he is.

He's the dreaded King of Nightmare and Shadow, the Lord of the Goblins, the Dark King Ceron. And he wants her. Despite being kidnapped, imprisoned, and deceived, Kaeda discovers she's meant for so much more than what Ceron intends. The very land of Aichinn embraces her, and her natural abilities flood forth. The dying kingdom has a chance to live again. With the awakening of the land's magic, Ceron's demons rise in full force, determined to wield the burgeoning power as their own.

Kaeda is Ceron's only chance to save Aichinn--if he doesn't destroy her first.

Dark Consort for Kindle

"This is not the book I was expecting. It was so much better. I loved the characters and the storyline. It kept you guessing on what was going to happen next and you had to keep reading to see what that was. It was very thought provoking and I loved that Kaeda was not your typical heroine waiting for someone else to save her but ready to fight for what she wanted. I highly recommend for anyone who wants a different kind of love story." ~ Deborah L Coombs, Amazon Reviewer

"I was immediately intrigued by the description of this book and it did not disappoint. I didn't get much of anything done the two days I was reading this because I was hooked. I liked Kaeda and Ceron even though some times them going back and forth tired me. I really wasn't expecting the ending and I had a major book hangover because of it. I would definitely recommend reading this book and only wish there was more of Kaeda and Ceron to read about. Good job!" ~ Larra Harr, Amazon Reviewer

"Kaeda makes this book for me. She is strong in so many ways. She fights to save a kingdom that has been brutalized and is dying. She fights for the people that has been forgotten. She fights for Ceron. She fights for her friends. She doesn't give up even when everyone else has, even when she knows by doing so may take her last breath.  
This book is a hidden gem." ~ Jenster, Amazon Reviewer

Please enjoy the first three chapters of Dark Consort!

#   Chapter One

The excited chatter of the young women gathered in the sunny classroom reverberated through the upper level of the Holding. Kaeda sat apart from the other students, gazing out the window at the green meadow below. Gardeners moved about the orchard that bordered the meadow, harvesting fruit trees. In a day's time, the Spring Faire would commence, with people coming from all over the continent to sell their wares and ply their trades. Artisans, tradesmen, farmers, and performers would converge on the village and the large avenues that formed a wide crossroads.

As a healer apprentice—as the only healer apprentice in the Holding at the moment—Kaeda would be expected to attend Salis in the Keyholders' tent. The healers' tent would be, as always, the most popular. Over the last four years Kaeda's dislike of the Faire only increased. She would much rather explore the Faire rather than sit in the stuffy tent watching Salis attend to humans and fae-folk alike. Gnomes, elves, the occasional troll or civilized ogre, and once every so often, sprites or nymphs who found enough magic to make themselves substantial. The once-powerful veins of magic that held the land together were growing thinner, and more supernatural creatures found themselves losing what created their very identities. Over the last few years, Kaeda had seen more and more dwarves and gnomes come through, reliant on the remedies she and Salis dispersed to cure the human ills they suffered from.

The world is growing older. We no longer need magic to save ourselves. The number of magic-endowed humans dwindled as well. Those who were born with the elemental songs in their souls were sequestered away in the Holdings as soon as they were old enough to leave their mothers. The old gods haven't left us completely on our own. Not yet, anyway.

The last time she saw more than the four ivory walls of the tent had been the year she was thirteen, on the cusp of womanhood, just months away from beginning her formal apprenticeship. She was older than any of the apprentices in her year, but only because her talents hadn't been clarified until she was nearly fifteen—at the age when most apprentices were exiting their apprenticeship.

It was clear she was destined for the Holding, for life as a Keyholder. The summoning crystal glowed like a star when she came close, as it always did when a being possessed enough potential to handle magic. While every living being existed with a matrix, a binding cloak of magic, very few were granted the ability to touch it, manipulate it, to sing the life songs.

That blessing was the only thing that kept her in the Holding. Twice she'd sat through termination hearings before the Elder Keyholders. Every year that passed, her chance of banishment increased.

The wind gusted through the meadow and whipped the tall grass into emerald waves dotted with jewel-like wildflowers. Kaeda imagined the sweet breeze on her face.

Magic proved to be temperamental. Some were born with the ability to weave the elemental energies that could manipulate air, water, fire, and earth. Human-centered abilities, like healing or psychic talents, were less rare. Talin, one of the Keyholders from the North, could make things grow just by touching them. He'd given her a rose three years back, at solstice, and hinted of courtship once she emerged from her apprenticeship. Kaeda smiled and shifted on the pillowed window seat, lost in thoughts of blue-eyed, dimpled Talin. He waited so patiently for her, despite her never-ending apprenticeship and the attentions of younger, more talented women.

"Kaeda." Salis's quiet voice cut through the mindless chatter of the other students and startled Kaeda out of her daydreams. She slid off the window seat and faced her teacher. Had Salis asked a question? She struggled to recall anything, but the depth of her fantasies excluded everything.

"Kaeda, if your dedication to lessons matched that of your daydreaming, you'd be teaching this class rather than just assisting me."

"I'm so sorry, Salis. I thought we were done."

"Did you finish the list of herbs that will ease a summer cold?"

Kaeda's heart faltered and she bowed her head. She picked up her tablet of smooth parchment and presented it to Salis. She faced the now-silent class of curious girls. She was the eldest by ten years, and as the beautiful, talented teenagers gazed up at her, she fought back a horribly discomforting wave of shame.

She paused and closed her eyes, thinking of the one tincture that she knew Salis wanted to hear more than any other. Listed in no text, existing only in the minds of the healer-women of the river clans, Salis passed on the recipe to her students, and her students alone.

"...And a mixture of valewort, faebane, and the water vilis plant will ease all the symptoms and relieve the patient of any discomfort."

"Thank you, Kaeda. Girls, I have to run an errand. Kaeda will resume teaching the rest of the lesson. She will instruct you on methods that don't require a healing song."

Kaeda looked up sharply, surprised. Salis raised one thin eyebrow. Salis's hands flashed in the silent, subtle language only trained Keyholders were taught when they reached Keyholder rank. You are my apprentice, after all, dear.

I'm not prepared. I don't have a lesson! Though never formally instructed, Kaeda possessed a natural ability with languages, and learned it simply from watching her mentors. After all, she'd had more time with them than any other student.

You'll be fine.

Salis swept out of the room, a smug smile on her face.

Ten pairs of eyes alive with challenge turned toward Kaeda. She assumed Salis's position on the cushion near the center of the group and picked up Salis's notes from the floor. "Ah...Where did Salis leave off?"

Byrnadette, a cocky, beautiful nobleman's daughter, raised her hand. Gold bracelets glittered on her wrists. Kaeda recalled her own first year at the Holding school. Her family couldn't afford the tuition, so they surrendered her to the Holding, all in the name of service to the king. Since she was a child, the only home she'd ever known was the sprawling, ivory-brick Holding set among fertile gardens and deep orchards.

"She was about to tell us why you're such a failure as a Keyholder."

Several of the girls laughed. The youngest looked around, uncertain and uncomfortable. Emira shook her head. "She told us about herbal remedies that don't require any other spells. She wasn't finished." The girl paused. "She said you're the best to teach of the physical healing arts."

"Thank you, Emira."

With her confidence low and her pride stinging, Kaeda flipped through Salis's notes and picked up where the Keyholder left off.

Hours later, Kaeda trudged through the girls' dorm in search of the giggling trio she'd heard sneaking through the corridors. As the most useless apprentice in the Holding, the job of caring for the children fell on her shoulders more often than not. She listened in the silence, and finally detected the softest whispers coming from one of the big empty dorm rooms near the end of the corridor. The Holding only accepted ten girls and ten boys at any given time, but the sprawling Holding served as a shelter during emergencies. Many of the dormitories were left vacant for most of the years.

As she drew closer, she made out the glow of candlelight brightening the black shadows. She cupped her hand around her own candle to hide the light the dancing flame cast. What were the girls doing down here? She thought back, trying to remember what would have lured her to the silent, empty chambers when she was a child.

Silence. Peace. Time to heal from the barbed insults of the other children.

No, that wouldn't be why these giggling twelve-year-olds braved the dark halls in the middle of the night.

She stood just outside the doorway and listened to the hushed voices.

"Nani, it's your turn to tell a scary story!"

Ah, she should have known. Ghost stories in the 'haunted' chambers. She was never invited to join in as a child, but she knew the shadows, knew how to weave them around herself so she couldn't be seen. She'd followed the other students, cloaked by magic and shadow, and eavesdropped.

The stories the three girls told were so similar to the ones her class had shared.

Kaeda blew her candle out silently and set the holder down on the stone floor. She closed her eyes and focused inward. Her matrix responded and began to draw the shadows around her. Once all hint of light no longer tickled her matrix, she opened her eyes and slipped into the chamber. The three girls sat on dusty cushions in the middle of the room around a trio of candles. Kaeda knelt, between the girls and the door.

"So there's this king," Nani began. She came from an island province off the northern coasts. A lilting, sweet accent flavored her words. "They call him the King of Nightmare and Shadow—"

Brenna rolled her eyes. "We know all those stories. We invited you because we thought you'd tell us some scary island stories. Sea monsters and stuff."

Nani shrugged. "We don't have any of those. Just fish. Fish aren't frightening. Let me tell my story. I know it'll scare you."

"All right, fine, but if it doesn't then you can't come to our circle anymore."

Kaeda recognized the hurt in the girl's eyes. She arrived at the Holding only a few months before, and the dark brown of her skin and hair amid the mostly fair-haired mainlander children guaranteed she stood out. None of the other students had ever been unfriendly, yet she always seemed to stand on the edges of the crowds.

Like me. I looked just like them, and I still stood out. I still stand out.

"Anyway, when my da was bringing me here last year, he met this man in an inn we were staying

"I'm absolutely terrified," Von said dryly.

"Shh."

Kaeda smiled. Nani didn't let the girls intimidate her. "This man was from Aichinn."

"We—we don't say that name here unless we're in class," Von said, her voice uncertain.

"It's just a name."

"But...it could summon him here!"

Nani leaned closer. The candlelight painted wild shadows on her face. "The man, he told us to be careful. You know how the old kings of Aichinn used to steal Keyholders to be their wives?"

The other girls nodded.

"The man said...the new king is looking for a woman to give him an heir."

"So?" Von, still trying to be brave, flipped her hair over her shoulders.

"So he's looking for a woman to steal away. And...she's got to be a Keyholder."

Kaeda tried to recall all she knew about Aichinn government. It was a required course, once a student reached a senior status. The kings of Aichinn required a wife who could pass on magical abilities, since it was necessary for a king to be as powerful as humanly possible. Who had been the last Keyholder taken?

A woman named Fern. Two generations back. Before that, others--both men and women, had been taken by force to the unforgiving desert lands.

Nani grinned, her white teeth flashing. "And this man, he said the new king himself is coming to the Northlands to create an heir. He doesn't want a wife, just the heir."

"I've heard he's handsome," Brenna said.

"He commands shadows." Nani, also blessed with the gift of light and shadow, waved her hands in front of the candles and made a shadowy shape that flickered across the girls' white night tunics. "He has fearsome powers. He can cast glamours and illusions. He can call up all the powers of darkness to destroy the soul of his victims. But he's powerful handsome, and able to send a girl to rapture with a touch. Would you welcome a man like that into your bedchamber?"

The other girls blushed, visible even in the candlelight. Kaeda rolled her eyes. What did these children know about men? The Holding encouraged chaste behavior, since Key power either increased or decreased when the bearer lost their innocence. One had to couple with the right partner, their channel, a natural compliment to their own abilities, in order to reach their full potential.

"The man we met said the new king is haunting the Holdings, looking for a vulnerable young girl, one he can steal away and have his way with. The man said, he won't come like a man, though. He'll sneak in like a shadow, and plant his seed in some girl's womb, and then vanish. And when the child is coming into the world, he'll send his vile goblins in to steal the child away."

Kaeda's control over her matrix shivered suddenly. She felt the cloak of shadows swell up and expand, emmiting tangible pulses of energy.

Von, the most sensitive of the three, cried out and turned around, candle in hand. Kaeda thickened the shadows, creating an illusion of solidity. The light reacted to Kaeda's matrix and bounced off like lightening, illuminating the terror in the girls' faces. As one, they fled the room. Their screams bounced off the walls of the corridor as they raced deeper into the Holding.

Uh oh. Kaeda sighed and let the shadows bleed away into the chamber. She fetched the two candles and turned toward the door.

A figure stood there, silhouetted in the moonlight shining in through the high window across the corridor. Kaeda's heart thumped and she stifled a scream.

Nathe shook his head and stood aside so she could exit. As the lead Keyholder, he was master and commander of the Holding. "You aren't supposed to manipulate that energy, Kaeda. It's not feyne energy."

The feyne, the basic name for the energies all Keyholders used. "The king has men who possess the same abilities." What is it, if it's not feyne? She'd asked countless times, yet never received a true answer.

Nathe gestured for her to walk with him down the corridor. "They use them for defense, not skulking around in dark hallways to frighten children."

It hurt that he would think that of her. "I wasn't trying to scare them. I...I just remembered how my classmates used to sneak out and tell scary stories."

"If I recall, you were never invited."

"No, I wasn't."

Nathe stopped. He put a hand on Kaeda's shoulder. "Kaeda, you promised long ago to let those abilities fade away. You are not one of the king's warriors. Those are energies you can't wield."

Kaeda nodded and bowed her head. "I won't use them again, Nathe."

"They're dangerous, Kaeda. If the wrong person were to discover you possessed them, you would be a danger to everyone."

She nodded. "I understand."

"Work on your healing energies, dear. You want to make Keyholder this year, don't you? You can't be an apprentice forever."

Most Keyholders finished their apprenticeships within two years, and she'd failed the tests five times. This year would be her last attempt. If she failed, Nathe would send her to the conservatory on the highest mountain in the Northlands. If the monks could sever her connection with her matrix, she would return to an ordinary life. Find a husband, learn a trade, something. If they couldn't, then she would remain there, cloistered away so no one with ill intentions could take advantage of her abilities.

Nathe patted her shoulder. "Go to bed, Kaeda. The Faire begins tomorrow, and we need you well rested."

She nodded and forced a small smile she didn't really feel. Nathe walked away, a soft glow of feyne illuminated his passage. They'd treated her differently than the other students, and she never understood why. More like parents than mentors, her education had been more intense. They worked hard to strengthen her weakest traits, hoping her other abilities would suffocate from lack of use. They helped culture her natural healing abilities and bound the other energies she could touch, like the shadows. Every few years, the bindings weakened and she found herself swirling shadows and wielding the darkness. Binding was a long, painful process. The last time the binding failed within a few days, and rather than go through the procedures again, Kaeda kept her mouth shut.

Hope turned to disappointment when she failed her first test. Instead of her abilities intensifying, as they should, nothing changed. She remained weak in all the areas that mattered.

Weak. If I could just show them how I can mold shadows, I might pass. She was a weak link in the ancient, honored way of the Keyholders.

Kaeda sighed and glanced out the nearest high window. The stars twinkled in the velvet sky, ever the same.

I won't take the test, she decided. I won't disappoint them again. After the Faire, I'll tell Nathe I want to go to the conservatory.

No. A cold blob of fear surrounded her. Not the conservatory. During the Faire, I'll slip away. I'll just vanish. She looked down at her hands. She was weak, yes, but not totally useless. She could use her healing gifts enough to help. No. To have her birthright stripped away would be brutal.

Kaeda made her way back to her tiny, private room at the far end of the girls' dorm and settled into bed, imagining a quiet life as a healer in some distant town.

# Chapter Two

"How do I sound?" Ceron posed in front of the elegant, carved mirror in his 'country lord' attire. His human liaison in the Northlands had chosen the very best inn in Kermilin for his stay. Raw wood walls and floors polished only by the tread of years of feet surrounded him. Rustic decorations—framed needlework, mosaics, and a dull metal sword hung on the walls. Heavy furniture made of dark, fragrant wood took up most of the small room.

But the feather-stuffed mattress was soft, and the bedding clean. It was the most he could hope for. He wasn't so far disconnected from the common people that he couldn't relax in such a setting. Though far larger than the Northlands, the land of Aichinn was poor, and his definition of 'finery' was only a few levels higher.

He plucked at his shirt, a long homespun tunic of royal purple, decorated with silvery thread at the hem and cuff. His wardrobe was his only indulgence in Aichinn. Much different than the tailored fashions he preferred, the homespun shirt and snug cotton breeches hung on his tall, lean frame. "Will I pass as a country lord visiting the Faire?" His tongue flopped around in his mouth as he tried to imitate the accents of the Northlands. Perhaps he shouldn't try to fake an accent. It would be better to try and stifle his own.

His manservant, a young goblin with a face like a withered apple, cocked one furry eyebrow. "You got something in your mouth, King?" He held up a pair of tall leather boots. "You wear these, too."

"No, Vezo, I don't have anything in my mouth. What does that mean?"

"You sound like you gotta full mouth. Blar-bluh-blah-blar!" The goblin fell backwards, laughing hysterically. "Tongue's gone wrong!"

"Stupid little creature." Ceron swiped at the insolent goblin. Vezo dodged away, still cackling. "Where's Cormorant?" The man once lived in the Northlands, so his assistance in procuring currency, lodgings, and the appropriate clothing had been invaluable. Ceron planned to reward him handsomely once they returned to Aichinn.

Vezo, on the other hand, would be lucky if he wasn't cast into a bottomless ravine. Impertinent and inept, the sneaky goblin left Ceron on edge.

"Cormorant go find food. Vezo wants to eat, too."

"Fine, then, go. But if you breathe one word of where we are truly from, I will string you up by your toes from the gallows and let the crows pick the flesh off your bones."

Vezo scowled. "You telling a story, King. You love Vezo."

Ceron lashed out and snatched the thigh-high creature up by the ankle. "You still think I'm lying, Vezo?" He shook the goblin so hard all the pilfered gold coins fell from ragged pockets and clattered to the floor. Vezo yowled and flailed about wildly. Ceron released him and he crashed to the floor. The goblin rolled away, shedding bits of his scavenging. Beads and tiny baubles vanished into nooks and crannies in the pitted, scarred floor.

Ceron swept his fingers through the air and every glittery bit of junk flew to the center of the room and formed a small ball that glimmered in the candlelight. Vezo growled, low in his throat. This goblin was an oddity among those from the goblin city. The residents of the chaotic village were unwaveringly loyal, and this particular one, while more intelligent and ruthless than his brethren, had more than a whiff of the wild magic tainting his aura. Ceron guided the ball higher, higher, until it hung near the ceiling. He dashed it to the floor with a simple flick of his hand.

"You'll do my bidding, you insignificant little wretch. When we return home, perhaps I won't have you beheaded."

Vezo scuttled for the safety of the darkest corner of the room. He sat in the shadows and whimpered.

I should destroy them all. Goblins overran his kingdom and plagued him constantly with their petty disputes. As a race, they had a skewed sense of ownership that led to contention with any humans living within miles. Within the goblin city, enchantments surrounded the city, placed by the vanished Renaia race.

Though renai, the magic of the desert, ran in his veins, his distant ancestors, the Renaia, were long absent from the Darklands. His own mother was Renaia, one of the last full-blooded in the entire kingdom, but she'd long since vanished, undone by his father's cruelties and vicious nature. His father had been dead for three years. It was time for Ceron to claim his future.

His diluted strain of Renaia blood gave him that power, his beauty, and an unscrupulous reigning hand. Soon, he would fulfill his destiny and give the Darklands life. He spun a glamour around himself to obscure his tell-tale features. Very few would be able to see through it.

"Go fetch my supper," he ordered Vezo. "And if I find a single grain of dirt on any of it, I'll banish you to Thorn Valley."

Vezo whined in dismay and scuttled out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Ceron sighed and began to take off the carefully tailored clothing. The Faire commenced in the morning. Vezo would scout the Keyholder booths for him and find an apprentice that matched his needs. Young, untrained, naïve.

Someone who would fall for lies of romance and seduction.

Or adventure. He could spin that web just as easily.

Vezo returned with a tray laden with stew, bread, and a flagon of water. He placed it on the rough table and stood, rocking back and forth on his big, flat feet. Ceron flicked his hand dismissively. "Leave me. I'll summon you in the morning."

The goblin vanished into the dim hallway. Sounds from the main room of the inn filtered through the floor, the sounds of merrymaking and happiness. Ceron growled beneath his breath, finding no joy in the gathering. Passing through the dining room earlier, the ecstatic smiles and raucous laughter grated against his nerves like jagged stone.

He ate in solitude. The hearty, flavorful stew surprised him, and the sweetness of the bread took his mind off his obsession for a moment as he chewed and swallowed. How long had it been since the Darklands had wheat? Or vegetables as healthy as the ones floating in the stew? His charmed gardens and orchards produced enough to feed his household, but most of his people spent most of their lives with hunger gnawing at their bellies. He speared a hunk of meat and savored the decadent morsel. And meat...He chewed, every mastication bringing on more and more guilt.

No wonder the people of the Northlands were plump and rosy-cheeked.

Bitterness rose in his throat, killing his appetite. He pushed the bowl towards the center of the table and sipped water until the last traces of the thick, rich stew were gone from his mouth. When I achieve my goal, Darklanders will feast like this every day. No more stunted wheat or sickly animals. When the magic returns to our lands, no one will waste away.

He moved the chair to the window and watched the festivities unspool down the main street. Music danced on the night air, illusive, hypnotic. Fireworks glittered and popped high overhead. People laughed and chattered, the sounds indistinct but insulating against the darkness of the night.

For moment, he longed to join the crowd downstairs. To speak to others, and to laugh with them. To see what made them smile and to hear the stories of their lives.

What would it be like to reach out...?

# Chapter Three

"Salis, that goblin's back." Kaeda scowled at the creature standing square in the center of the healer's tent. It stared at her with big, deep-set eyes nearly lost in the shadow of its sloping brow and big bulbous nose. Occasionally it would flick its tongue out and lick its lipless mouth. "You don't think it's going to try and steal anything, do you?"

Salis leaned around the partition. "Is it sick?"

"It won't talk to me."

Salis sighed. "Kaeda. Use your skills to find out what he wants."

"It's a 'he'?"

The older woman groaned and disappeared behind the hanging partitions that divided the tent in two. Shelves lined the sides of the tent, laden with jars and bottles and sachets of potions, medicines, and remedies. The entire tent smelled of herbs, spices. Kaeda inhaled deeply, savoring the scents of cinnamon and clove.

And goblin. He had a musty odor, like clothes kept in a chest too long.

Find out what he wants.

Kaeda's hand rose to her crystal pendant unconsciously. She fondled it out of habit as she closed her eyes and tasted the air around the goblin with the tiny, delicate strands of the magical matrix that surrounded her. Once she made contact, she opened her eyes.

She shivered. Touching him with her mind reminded her of touching the slippery, slimy frogs in the pond at the bottom of the meadow. She squeezed her pendant tighter, so tightly the chiseled edges dug into her palm. Tell me, she whispered to the gentle feyne her blood contained.

The goblin was hungry and dirty, but what goblin wasn't hungry or dirty? She cast about, yet could find no physical illness, nor any mental deficit, other than his goblin-ness.

She gave up and let her net melt away. "What do you want?" she asked, exasperated.

"What your name?" he whined, finally.

"Kaeda. What's yours?"

"Vezo. You Keyholder?"

"Not yet."

"You old for being a training-child. Way too old. You got wrinkles like bag."

Kaeda groaned. Even goblins tormented her about her age and her status. She was only a couple of years older than most of the students at the Holding! "I was a late bloomer. And I don't have wrinkles."

Vezo's black eyes sparkled. "You look closer in mirror, then. I know sick man. He need medicines. Pretty hand to give medicines to him, too."

"You'll have to speak to Salis." Vezo's face contorted into what Kaeda could only assume was a smile. "Just tell your sick man to come to in and we'll fix him," she said.

The goblin turned and waddled out of the tent. Kaeda followed him to the opening and peered out. She followed his progress with her eyes until he got lost in the growing crowd. Strange.

But this was the Faire, and people and races of all kinds appeared. Even so, seeing a goblin out and about was unusual. Very few goblins lived in the Northlands. They were vile King Ceron's footsoldiers.

"I hope he doesn't come back."

Colorful tents of all sizes and shapes lined the main street and spread down the narrower roads. High above the other flags, the signals of the other Keyholders flapped in the wind. She picked out the red flags of the south Holding, the yellow of the east Holding, and the purple of the north Holding. Three of the lesser Holdings were present as well, but rather than serve in their own tents, they helped out at the larger Holdings' tents. Later in the day, a young healer named Mirande would arrive to help Salis.

Kaeda busied herself with taking inventory again, just to drown out the depressing feeling of worthlessness that welled up within her.

"Kaeda!" Salis called her from the bowels of the tent. "Bring the spritebane and clean bandages!"

Grateful for the distraction, Kaeda gathered the required ingredients and scurried into the back, the goblin and his odd behavior nearly forgotten.

64

