Blakeshire (16 page)

“Sculptures this large are said to belong to old souls, ones that have or will live over the course of several eternities,” he said carefully as his eyes danced across my curious expression.

“All souls do, though.”

“That they do, but most complete one course of life and move on to another that is dramatically different, or so the people here believe they do; others, they are like an epic novel. Their adversity is one that must be conquered over chapters of lifetimes. They are destined to change the universe, to cause a shift in thinking.”

“Such a waste,” I said, almost to myself.

“In the minds of this town, this son will return, rise, and bring forth the change he was destined to create.”

“After all this time?”

He nodded once. “After all this time. They believe his heart was in the right place, but time and circumstance were misplaced.”

“It’s crazy how new this looks. I mean, if you told me it was built last month I would believe you, but I can feel a regal energy coming from it at the same time.”

“Some of it is new.” He nodded to the other end of the wall. “An extension was built almost twenty years ago.”

“That close? How old is this town?”

“The records I told you about are thousands of years old. The seers, on their deathbeds, are given a vision. Every hundred years, sometimes sooner, one of them sees something that has to do with this wall. They extend it but never reveal what is beneath the brick.”

“Now I really want to knock it down.”

“Patience,” he said as a silent laugh echoed from his broad chest. “Whoever this son is, he will find his soul.”

Something about his tone changed the entire mood of the moment. I glanced up at him to see him gazing into the strong profile of the young man.

“No one can take your soul,” I whispered to him.

“Not for the lack of trying,” he quipped dryly, putting his arm around me and leading me back onto the street. As we walked further, I noticed how everyone seemed to nod and smile at us. I assumed it was just a friendly dimension, but then I heard a few of them say, “Mr. Blakeshire.”

“You spend a lot of time here.”

He held in a grin. “Kind of my hideout. My real.”

Guilt slammed into my soul. “I hurt you when I told you the palace wasn’t real—that the life you led was fake, didn’t I?”

His hand tightened around mine. “Not at all. It’s the truth. It’s never been my real. A few months ago when I figured out that I had two other brothers, an entire family that I didn’t know about, I realized that even though I was furious with my parents for hiding so much from me that they never really hid anything.” He hesitated. “If I had listened to my soul like the father on that mural, I wouldn’t have cared. Instead, I was like the son. I took what was in front of me and acted it out.”

“On stage.”

“Always,” he sighed. “Donalt sent me into the strings every day. I was supposed to be searching every nook of Infante, but instead, most days I came here. This was my real.”

“It’s a beautiful real.”

“It’s how I want my kingdom to think and feel. They are made of stone right now; under that stone is a purpose that I dream to lead them to. They live in terror. I want them to live with obsession. To find what makes them whole and absorb it, because I know when they do they will find something even greater.”

“One day,” I promised.

Right then, a little boy ran up to Drake and pulled on his coat. When Drake looked down, the boy signed something to him. Drake offered a simple nod and a subtle grin. The boy beamed with excitement as he ran off.

“What was that about?”

“They want to perform for you.”

“What?”

“The school is on midday break. They saw me with you, and they want to show us what they have been practicing.”

“You really do spend a lot of time here.”

He grinned as he leaned against the light post and pulled me in front of him.

An artist was just before us. He grinned at us as he continued to create whatever was on his canvas.

All at once, loud music began to play. It was insane because it had a solid beat to it, but there was a symphony laced with it. I could even hear guitars.

Everyone on the sidewalk halted what they were doing, and people in the buildings either came out or opened their windows to stare out. A few seconds later, children ran out to the street—there were at least a hu
ndred of them. They moved in perfect rhythm with each other. That was cool, but what was wicked was that they were signing as they moved with the music; it was like they were all singing silently together. When the beat became slower, so did the movement of their words; when it sped up, so did their little arms.

The energy swarming around us was insane; you could feel this vibration in the air, this innocent addiction to life.

Drake moved us with the beat, making us look like a better audience than what I was doing. My eyes were wide and my mouth was half-open. I was trying desperately to take it all in without overwhelming my senses.

It all ended far too soon. The kids swarmed around us, hugging Drake and signing things to him that he answered in the same fashion. He pulled handfuls of candy out his coat pockets and passed it out to them; they took each piece like it was gift from the heavens. Then just like that, they all disbursed.

“Wait right here,” he said to me as he stepped inside the doorway next to us. I was too awestruck to follow him. I really thought I was dreaming for a moment. Today I had seen Drake cook, sign, muse, and entertain children—and none of those actions played into the hardcore, self-loathing prince that I thought I was on a date with. This boy had way too many layers.

The artist before where I was standing stood and handed me a sheet of ivory paper that had been rolled tightly into place.

“I can’t—” Before I could tell him I had no money to give him for this, he held his hand up.

“A gift for Blakeshire’s light.”

A disbelieving grin spread across my face as I took what was surely a drawing of us. Before I could offer a thanks or look at the image, Drake was back.

“Ready?”

“For?”

He grinned as he urged me to walk down the sidewalk with him. I slid the paper into my coat pocket, and as we walked I did my best to smile at everyone who said hello to us.

A few blocks later we turned, and there on the side street was the oddest-looking car I had ever seen. The wheels were huge with thick tread; the body was sleek like a sports car. The dark red with white stripes could have been giving it that sports car image, but still this was crazy.

He opened the door for me. As I slid in, I noticed how basic, yet modern it was. There wasn’t any kind of computer, clock, or radio, but the seats were leather and that deep aroma of new car filled the air.

He slid in the driver’s seat and glanced at me. “I love that look on your face.”

“Who are you?” I said with a crazy grin.

“Someone who is trying really hard to show you what real is to me.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Ah, don’t say that. I haven’t even shown you what we came here to see,” he joked as he turned the car on and took control of the gearshift. My heart raced as I realized that I was excited and nervous all at once.

Anticipation coiled in my core.

Chapter Ten

~Drake~

The wall spoke to her. I couldn’t even wrap my head around that. I was told by the leader of this world, right after I was shown that mural, that it only spoke to the souls that it belonged to. He assured me at some point I’d found a home in this valley. That I had an unfinished beginning. And Madison had just confirmed that she did, too. That made me anxious and excited to show her what was hidden here. To show her where my best dreams were manifested.

She was relaxed and calm at my side. Instead of looking at everything around her as if it were a plague or something she had to repair, her expression was filled with wonder.

“So are you going to tell me about the sign language, or are you going to let me unravel that mystery on my own?” she asked once we turned down a less traveled path.

I glanced at her before moving my head from side to side in fake dismay. Preston told me she was watching us this morning, that she knew I
was signing to him, but she didn’t mention it and I didn’t care to bring it up then or now. So I played it off. “It’s not a secret; it plays into their culture. In a way, it’s like a vow of silence. Children are taught to speak silently so they can hear their inner voice. As they grow up, as the seasons of rain begin to shape their sculptures, they begin to speak. The adults never tell them when or offer permission. They just seem to know when their voice is needed.”

“Interesting,” she said under her breath, clearly let down that I left it at that. “So, did you bring Preston here?”

Oh, she was good. Made it seem like that was a wayward question, and not something that had been bothering her for hours.

“Not yet. You’re the first,” I said with a wink. She was going to have to come out and ask me. She was obsessive and curious enough to do just that. I just wanted her to get used to asking me anything at any
time.

“He signs,” she finally said.

My eyes met hers; contentment was surely apparent in my gaze. She was becoming at ease with me. “He said you were watching.”

“Watching is a better word than spying.”

“You said it, not me,” I said as I pointed at her and tried to hold in a grin.

She blushed shyly. “I was just caught off guard. I’m still not used to having my senses on lockdown. Usually, I can tell you everyone that is within a half-mile or so from me. I woke up from a nightmare in a silent house and thought I was alone.” She glanced out the window to try and hide her embarrassment. “I was just mesmerized with the care you were taking with him. With you cooking.”

She was the one that mesmerized me with the care she took with Preston. He tended to have a rapport with everyone whose path he crossed, but with Madison it was a silent one, like he knew he didn’t need to ‘get to know her;’ he acted as if he had always known her. To say that equally terrified and excited me made no sense, but it was true.

“You were mesmerized by me arguing with a six-year-old?” I quipped.

“Sign language is too beautiful to be conveyed as anger.”

“Remember that if you ever see him mad.”

“Preston?”

I nodded as my smile faded and I shifted gears, as the road became more of a hill. This was going to be harder than I thought to explain. “He was born deaf and mute.”

“Seriously?” she said in a tone that was rich with grief. You’d have almost thought she was taking the blame for that. Odd.

A solemn nod was my answer at first. “They tried every spell they knew, called forth every medical doctor that existed to heal him—all to no avail.”

“I think any parent would do the same.”

“Not my parents. They were content with his condition. Donalt was the one that searched for a cure. Donalt was the one that executed every doctor that failed him.”

“Who was the lucky one that healed him?”

“No one…things became really dense a few months ago, more dense than ever before. Donalt was on edge. He kept telling me that my time was coming, with the Blue Moon I would rule. He turned me against my father by revealing his hidden family, then pushed me to search for Willow.” I hesitated. “When I came back with a few of her friends, Preston came into my chambers late one night and crawled into my bed. I sat up and grabbed his favorite book so I could help him fall back asleep, but he blocked me from opening it and looked up at me…in the most innocent whisper, he told me that I marked the wrong soul. He reached for my chest, and once his tiny hand was on my heart, which was pounding like crazy, he spoke again…and told me that she did not have the power of fire.”

“He didn’t speak until you found Willow?” she breathed as she adjusted herself in her seat.

“Not a word. And I know he couldn’t hear either. They tested him fiercely. Not one sound would cause him to stir, no matter how loud it was.”

“What did he mean by the fire?” she asked, completely mystified by this.

We had reached the top of that hill, and the ground was leveling out. Once I had put the car in a different gear, I reached for her hand. With a glance, I could see that glow under my touch, feel a warm rush. I was starting to believe she was my fire. I sucked in a silent breath when the memories of the cold I’d battled came to mind. I never wanted her to see me that weak. Ever.

“I was rarely truly grateful for anything growing up. The first thing I remember creating that feeling was Preston. I knew if he was deaf, then he would never hear the voice of Donalt or anyone else in that court. That if that were the case, he would always be warm, he would never feel their coldness in his soul.”

“What did they do to you?” she asked as look of concern crept across her face.

“On the surface, nothing that ever seemed damaging. It was just words, words that would linger in your mind late at night. Words that I still hear.”

“You hear him now?” she asked as her hand tightened around mine.

“Not right now, but often.” I relaxed my body into my seat.

It was almost like telling her that I had knocked down another brick in the wall that was dividing the two of us. “It feels like ice…coldness running through my soul, through my heart. The only way to stop the pain of it is to find anger. Yet, in the long run that makes it worse because when you are angry you say and do things that you know are wrong—that you know you will regret, but you don’t care because right then your way is the only way that matters.”

“Is that the coldness you are trying to get over, the bubble you have to pass before you’ll go and see your father?”

The air grew tight. She was on point, almost too much so. I couldn’t figure out why she was so focused on my fathe
r. Yesterday while she slept I spoke to Landen. We both agreed that we have to be honest about our past with our girls. That if we let them deeper into our souls, we could, in some way, save them from this attack on their insights that they both yielded as weapons.

I was the one that gave him that advice, but now I’m certain my words are haunting me. I didn’t want her to see me as a murderer, but I didn’t want
to justify that I had killed my father because I was too focused on Willow at the moment to care. And truth be told, even before those last few brash weeks of my father’s life, the mood between us was never balanced. I blamed him and my mother for letting me live through what I did. I would have protected my family. I didn’t feel that my father did.

“I just can’t go and see him when I know that anger is still within me. In my mind, that would be like me walking up to him with Donalt at my side. I have to become the man my father never knew me to be before I face him again.”

“I think you already are that man. Inside, you are.”

I needed to hear that. Creator help me, I truly did.

“I’m still cold,” I murmured. I should have brought some ginger with me. I was overdue for one of Donalt’s attacks, and I doubted that Zander would be able to pop in and save the day as he had for years. I told myself I was too happy right now for him to invade me—I hoped I was right.

She let the conversation rest at that point. I was falling hard for her. She knew when to push me and when to let go. Every man needed a woman like that.

I glanced at her; she was deep in thought. Every once in a while, she would fist her hands and hold her breath. She was deep in her mind, and my instincts told me she was reliving the dream she refused to tell me about. It also made me think that she was aware of whatever three sacrifices Zander had all but swore I would have to make with this trial of Saturn. I couldn’t ask her because I doubted she knew what she knew, and I didn’t want to scare her.

Moments later, she spoke again. “What was your father’s favorite candy? Peppermint?”

I glanced at her like she was insane. Where did that come from? “I don’t think I saw him ever eat candy—why?”

“Does he smell like mint?”

I furrowed my brow as a perplexed grin came over me. “No, coffee usually.”

Now she was the one looking at me like I was crazy. Her mesmerizing green eyes were rushing across my face. She always had that look when she was trying to consume as much information as possible, and apparently she was coming up empty with this search. She was biting one side of her bottom lip, an adorable gesture. I reached to caress her lip, silently telling her to just ask whatever she wanted to know.

“You’re not going to tell me why you asked something so random?” I asked in a low tone as she let a breath out. I loved how she responded to my every touch. I really did.

“It’s not all that random. You smell like mint.” She blushed. “You taste like mint.”

“I smell like mint?” I repeated, raising my brow.

“Sometimes roses.”

“You’re not serious.”

“No one has ever told you that? You can’t smell it? Taste it?”

“No,” I said with an innocent grin, “and I’m trying to figure out if I should be flattered or offended.”

“Kinda my favorite flavor right now.”

A sinful grin took possession of my lips. “And how did that link you back to my father?”

“Because for some reason in my head, I think your father smells like peppermint.”

“Must be a solitary trait.”

“Was he angry? Like, did he embrace that emotion?” she asked.

That smile of mine just expanded as I shook my head. “No, my mother carried enough anger for the both of them. He wasn’t passive. He was just curious and patient. A lot like August.”

August was my grandfather, but I had only known of him for a few months. I resonated with him immediately.

“Then I’m going to love him,” she said confidently.

I had lost track of the conversation. My heart was starting to thunder. We were seconds away from what I was dying to show her. My last test.

~ Madison ~

“Close your eyes,” he said to me.

“What?”

“We are almost to part of this surprise. I want to see your eyes when you see it first, and I can’t do that and drive at the same time.”

“I really suck at not peeking,” I said as I leaned forward and put my forehead on my lap. I heard him laugh, but I knew my weaknesses.

A moment later, he parked.

“Now?”

“I’m going to come around,” I heard him say as the door opened, then closed.

When he opened my door and I felt the cool air race in, I turned my head to look up at him. “Should I be nervous?”

“No,” he murmured with a blush. What was odd was that he was nervous. It was the first time I felt an emotion coming from him so clearly.

I reached for his hand and held his gaze as I stepped out. He nodded for me to look forward, and when I did I saw a waterfall that was only thirty feet or so high. On the top ridge there were endless flowers in every color known to the imagination. As the water ran by these flowers, the pigment of them flooded the fall, making it look like a rainbow. As it pooled in the basin, some of the colors remained solitary and others mingled creating a pastel shade off which the sun was gleaming merrily.

I’d heard of déjà vu before, but I had never felt it this deeply. A wave of energy swept over me—it took my breath away. I felt a slow, deep pounding in my chest.

“Like it?” he said so quietly that I barely heard him.

All I could do was nod once as my wide eyes took in the detail. More than once, I had created something close to this. I would stand at the top of a ladder and let the paint run from the ceiling to the floor, but I was never able to create something this breathtaking.

“When you showed me some of your work the other night, this place came to mind instantly.”

My work he was referring to was the bonus room in the house I grew up
in. My mother gave me free rein to paint or do anything I wanted to do. The waterfall wall had been there for years. Months back, for some reason when I was mad at my dreams, mad that the boy I was dreaming about was looking at a girl that looked just like me, I destroyed that wall. Well, kind of; I threw a bucket of black paint across it, and ran my hands through, as every piece of it was covered with that darkness. In the end when it dried, the colors beamed through the black. My mother thought I created that on purpose; she had no idea it was the result of an emotional breakdown.