Persuasion (42 page)

Barrie exchanged a look with Eight, but she wasn’t ready to bring up the ghosts and the curse, not with Andrew standing there. First, she needed to know if Obadiah was still alive.

“Could you take an extra volunteer to help dig?” she asked. “I want to be there. For Charlotte.”

For Charlotte and her mother and father. For Caroline and Daphne.

“Make it two volunteers.” Eight waited until Andrew and Berg had gone back to the huddled group of archaeologists, then laced his fingers through Barrie’s and pulled her up the marble steps and off behind one of the broken columns of the old mansion, out of sight of everyone.

“What?” Barrie said, her eyes stinging because she was afraid she already knew.

“Several things. First, if we’re going to have any kind of a relationship, Bear, I need you to stop deciding things for yourself and then charging off without me. A relationship is about two people deciding. You should have talked to me about volunteering.” He threw a dark glance back to where the archaeologists eddied around the bare spot at the excavation area. “It doesn’t look like things are going to be any safer here.”

“That’s why we have to come back. We have to find a way to break the curse. We’re going to need to find Obadiah to figure that out.”

“You’re assuming he’s alive—or even willing to help.” Eight pushed a hand through his hair, as if he was doing that because he wanted to do something else—like shake her. “I mean it about you not deciding things on your own, Bear. I can’t do that anymore. You have to
talk
to me.”

“Like you talked to me before you sent the email turning down your scholarship?”

“That’s not the same. I knew you wanted me to stay here,” Eight said, but then he rocked back on his heels and shook his head. “No, you’re right. It is kind of the same. I’m not even going to try to argue.”

“That’ll be new.” Barrie found herself smiling, even though she hadn’t expected to want to smile for a good long
time. “What else did you want to tell me? You said you had several things.”

“There was that one thing,” Eight said, stepping closer, “and then there was this.”

He cupped her face, his callused fingers both rough and gentle against her skin as he bent to kiss her. They came together like thirst and water, like dark and light. Eight’s thumb traced the shape of Barrie’s face, the curve of her cheek. Then he groaned and dropped his arms around her waist to pull her closer. Barrie felt found, the way only Eight ever made her feel found.

At that moment, the gifts didn’t matter. There was only skin, and breath, and touch. For that moment, in that moment, they were each enough.

Enough. The word echoed through Barrie’s heart, leaving a wake of emptiness.

Were
they enough? She stiffened, and Eight pulled back to look at her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“I thought we were done with the secrets,” he said, pulling away.

And wasn’t that the problem? Secrets were never done. Secrets left their barbs burrowed deep within people, within relationships, quietly doing more damage with every passing
day. What kind of a chance would she and Eight ever have with secrets between them? Without honesty?

Without trust.

Because that was what it all came down to. Love was mutual. It was give-and-take, and laugh and cry. Love was about sharing, not persuading. Didn’t they have enough examples right in front of them about how that went wrong in so many different ways? How was Seven’s use of withholding money so that Eight would choose the college Seven wanted that much better than the threat of force the Union captain had used against Daphne? They were different levels of awfulness motivated by different reasons, but a threat was a threat. By the same token, if there was
any
chance Eight’s gift was making him want Barrie, or even contributing to it, then wasn’t that only a milder version of what Ryder had done to Cassie? Persuasion and coercion came in varying degrees.

“What is it, Bear?” Eight watched her steadily. “What are you thinking?”

She couldn’t face him while she spoke. “There’s something I haven’t told you. Something your father didn’t want you to know, and he asked me not to say anything, either.” She took a deep breath. “It isn’t only the Watsons who are bound to the land. The Beauforts are bound to Beaufort Hall.
You’ll
be bound to it after your father dies, if we don’t break your gift.”

Eight’s face closed, his eyes darkening and the pupils
receding as if to underscore the distance that had reared between them.

“That’s why you were trying to help Obadiah? Because I was going to be bound?”

“That, and he threatened to take the Watson gift away. He said he knew the Watson lodestone was buried near the Scalping Tree.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“He told me not to! And your father begged me not to tell. Mostly, I couldn’t bring myself to say anything because I didn’t want to hurt you. Your father keeping it from you, making decisions for you. I didn’t want to have to be the one to tell you he’d done that.”

“So you made decisions for me instead.” Eight’s voice was so quiet, Barrie scarcely heard him. “You made decisions for both of us, because you couldn’t trust me and you couldn’t trust yourself.” He shook his head in disgust. “How long have you known?”

Barrie caught one of his hands, willing him to, begging him to, try to understand. “Since the night we came back from San Francisco. He wants you to have the choices he feels like he never had. He wants you to go and live while you can.”

“That’s not any kind of a choice worth having.”

“I didn’t say I agreed with him!”

“But you kept it from me. That speaks loudly enough.”
Eight’s shoulders dropped an inch and curled in on themselves, and he took a step away, pulling his hand from hers. “You had opportunities, Bear. Every time you told me you would change, that you would trust me, you were lying by omission.” He swallowed, blinking rapidly, as if trying to see Barrie clearly. Or maybe he was trying not to cry.

Barrie couldn’t stand it, knowing that she had done exactly what she’d been trying so hard not to do.

Before she could think what to say, Eight rubbed his finger across his lip and briefly closed his eyes. “You and my dad both think I’m not smart enough to make decisions for myself,” he said. “How could I not have seen that? Dad trying to tell me what to do with my life. Pushing me to be a lawyer. You starting the restaurant to give me something to do.” His head jerked up and his brows lowered. “I even thought it was cute when you called me ‘baseball guy.’ I thought you were teasing, but what you’re really saying each time is that I’m just a poor, dumb jock.”

He walked away.

“Eight, wait! Please. That’s not what I meant at all. God, I’m sorry. You know I only called you that because I don’t like baseball. You’re far smarter than I am. You’re the one who always thinks problems through, while I jump into them without looking.” Barrie ran after him, but he started running, too, and halfway to the trees she realized she wasn’t going to catch him.

He didn’t turn around, and he didn’t slow down, and even if he had, she had no idea what to say or what to promise that she hadn’t already said or promised him before. Her knees threatened to buckle, as if her body were too heavy for them.

She’d tried so hard, and yet she’d still managed to get it wrong.

Eight dropped back to a walk as he reached the woods, hurrying farther and farther away, growing further and further from her.

This was why she hadn’t told him, because she had known this pain was coming. Not her pain; that didn’t matter. He was the one who was hurting, and she didn’t know how to reach him.

She was going to, though. She had to. She had so many things to fix.

She had barely had the thought when three black feathers drifted from the sky and floated to the grass. They rocked gently a few times, then stilled and sank into the ground. The air above her was empty, but when she looked behind her, the tops of the broken mansion columns were filled with ravens. None of them appeared to have moved, and none was positioned right to have lost the feathers.

“Obadiah?” she asked. “Is that you?”

There was no answer, but her gift gave an insistent pulse, a reminder of more unfinished business.

Stay tuned for
Illusion
, the next book in the Heirs of Watson Island series, coming Fall 2016!

It took
so
many people to create
Persuasion
. This includes, of course, all those named below, but ultimately my biggest thank-you is a general one that goes to the readers, bloggers, reviewers, librarians, and booksellers who have supported
Compulsion
, and to readers who support and live in fictional worlds in general.

Specifically, I am so, so grateful to:

My husband and kids for putting up with me through a debut year and deadlines that had me working on vacations and even holidays. I’m going to get better at juggling all this, I promise!

The survivors who were kind enough to read and share their very personal stories of PTSD, violence, and sexual assault. For obvious reasons, I won’t name you, but
Persuasion
wouldn’t exist without your generosity, insight, and tremendous courage.

Sara Sargent, my fabulous and patient editor at Simon Pulse, for her keen eye, sensitivity to balance, and the two million other things that she does for me.

Katherine Devendorf, Bara MacNeill, and Amy Wilson for managing the editing and copyediting and helping me
make
Persuasion
better than I could have hoped to make it.

Regina Flath and Hilary Zarycky for a fantastic cover and interior book design.

The whole incredible team at Simon Pulse and Simon & Schuster who have worked behind the scenes to make this book possible: Mara Anastas, Mary Marotta, Carolyn Swerdloff, Teresa Ronquillo, Lucille Rettino, Christina Pecorale, Emma Sector, Michelle Leo, Anthony Parisi, Candace Green, Katy Hershberger, Nicole Ellul, Sara Berko, Jodie Hockensmith, Kelsey Dickson, and everyone on the editorial, art, marketing, publicity, sales, and rights teams—THANK YOU! I’m so lucky to have you all!

Kent Wolf and Patricia Burke at LMQ and Jessica Regel at Foundry Media for their savvy and kindness, and for not only doing all the things that let me write books in the first place, but also believing in this series and in my career.

My amazing critique partners, Susan Sipal and Erin Cashman, for their expertise, advice, support, and enthusiasm, and the lovely beta readers from my street team—Amanda Pate, Beth Edwards, Brittany Todd, Karina Romano, Elizabeth Dobak, and Stephanie Habina. Love you ladies so much!

Andrew Agha, who patiently explained the archaeology of lowcountry plantations, took me around Charles Town Landing, and then let me twist what he said to suit
my fictional purposes. All those twists and departures are, of course, entirely my own fault.

All the generous authors who blurbed
Compulsion
, came out on the Compelling Reads tour, supported YA series books with me on
YASeriesInsiders.com
, and/or were kind and patient enough to put up with my newbie enthusiasm and cluelessness while diplomatically teaching me a
ton
. Sending you big hugs.

All the bloggers who reviewed
Compulsion
or helped spread the word through giveaways, with special thanks to Hafsah at
Icey Books
for having been the first, to Jamie at
Rock Star Blog Tours
and
Two Chicks on Books
for doing the blog tour, Andye at
Reading Teen
and Daniel at
RT Book Reviews
for writing my favorite lines about Eight, and Katie from
Mundie Moms
for the Compulsion for Magic tour and a review that made me happy cry.

Everyone
on the
Compulsion
street team. You guys! You’re wonderful. Thanks especially to Britt for painted shoes and Alice for word search puzzles, and to Becca, Kate, Alyssa, Beth, and the other captains.

My wonderful
AdventuresInYAPublishing.com
partners, past and present. Thank you for putting up with my periodic absences and making the blog continue to grow as a support system for aspiring authors.

Jan Lewis and Max Kutil, who do their best to make sure what needs to get done gets done.

And last, but certainly not least, Carol Barreyre and Cici Ramirez for being with me every step of the way and putting up with launch week and making it fun! You know how much I love you, but it bears repeating.

Finally, I’d like to add a special note. Post-traumatic stress disorder affects many different kinds of people, from those who valiantly serve in the military and first-response teams to keep the rest of us safe, to those who have experienced trauma in other ways. PTSD ranges widely in symptoms and intensity, and it can come on immediately after or many years after a traumatic event. It affects the families and loved ones of those who suffer, as well as the victims themselves. I’d like to take this opportunity to thank those who are on the front lines of studying and healing the frequently unseen and undiagnosed effects of PTSD.

If you or someone you know may be suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, the following sources provide various forms of help and information:

https://www.sidran.org/resources/for-survivors-and-loved-ones/

http://www.ptsd.va.gov//files/02/76/34/f027634/public/index.asp

http://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/index.shtml

For book club and curriculum-related bonus material, discussion questions, and additional information on the history and folklore of the Heirs of Watson Island series, please visit the author’s website at
www.MartinaBoone.com
.