Vision (11 page)

He chuckled. “I’m almost certain I can’t do
that unless you’re in danger. But I’ll fly with you…on the
plane.”

I smiled, satisfied, and he continued.

“I…don’t know how I do it yet. It’s a new
thing, since we…met.” He kissed my forehead, nibbling his way to my
ear, trying to initiate another round. It was hard to resist, but I
did. Too many unanswered questions hovering.

He let out a long, groaning sigh when I
denied him. “Okay…here goes.”

“Helllooo!”

I didn’t hear her come in, and jumped a
little, making Stuart smile.

“Abbey?” Wow, any earlier and we would have
had an embarrassing situation.

“It’s me dear.” She walked in the sitting
room looking radiant and flushed from the cold. “I thought you’d be
in bed!” That’s what I thought too.

Her smile widened when she shifted her vision
to Stuart. “Stuart. Finally we meet.” She walked over and they
embraced like they were long lost friends.

My mouth dropped, unsure whether to speak or
scream. Abbey plopped in the oversized chair across from where we
sat, exuding simultaneous youth and wisdom. “I take it Sarah paid
you a visit?” She winked, her wide mouth bending with secrets.

I stared at her then nodded slowly. “Uh,
yes…how did you know?”

She chuckled in memoriam. “Oh child, Sarah
and I go way back.”

As polite and sweet and lovely as Abbey was,
and as crazy with mad love Stuart made me, I still jumped to my
feet, the lump in my throat exploding into sound. “WHAT THE HELL IS
GOING ON?”

And I had to ask.

Abbey knew Sarah because they were best
friends, cousins actually, so Abbey and I were related too in some
weird way. “I’ve been alive a long time, Layla. I’m a bean
sidhe.”

After many minutes of me pacing, insisting
bean sidhe were stuff of folklore and legend, Abbey and Stuart sat
in slouched exhausted silence until I finally resigned. I plopped
down defeated next to Stuart. “Seriously, a bean sidhe, like a
screaming banshee chick when people die?”

Abbey nodded. “Yes, like that. Banshee is the
phonic pronunciation. My husband George was a soul escort. I
wailed, he herded.”

Drenched in disbelief, I could only think of
one question. “Do people here know who you are?”

She laughed brightly. “They all die before
they figure anything out. That’s why I like it here. Small
population.” Stuart chuckled.

“Uh huh.” I know there are other more burning
questions to ask, but my mind was literally blank; a rare, cosmic
occurrence.

Stuart’s closed his eyes from fatigue, his
slightly tilted head resting on the top of his loose fist.

Abbey addressed the silence. “Layla, souls
are eternal. Did you know that?”

I shrugged. “I guess.” In truth, I was
generally neutral about these things. It was easier to be unsure
than to believe stories.

She continued. “When Jonathan was
killed…”

“Oh god…you were alive then!” I
interrupted.

Abbey patiently nodded. “Yes, but I wasn’t
here on the island. When he was killed, George was able to
immediately escort his soul into a new being, a baby about to be
born in Morocco.” She saw me start to speak again and lifted her
hand in a signal to let her finish. “During transition Jonathan’s
soul requested eternal life for he and Sarah due to their
unfinished life together, as a way to compensate them for the loss
of the unborn child. Jonathan begged George for another chance for
he and Sarah. He wanted the special ability to remember their time
together, and find her without losing all of his memories as souls
do when they travel from body to body over time. The request is
rare and seldom granted, but his soul was desperate with grief so
strong George could not ignore his pain. So, George gave Jonathan’s
departed soul what it wished. The soul went into the new body. But
Sarah’s soul didn’t adjust as well and George couldn’t guide her
anywhere. He granted the soul eternal life anyway, but she, it
wandered aimlessly for many, many years…until now.”

The tightness in my jaw caused massive head
throbbing. Maybe the pieces were coming together, but nothing
seemed remotely plausible…in the real world. But I knew my
existence resembled nothing close to what defines normal beyond
these walls.

I looked at Abbey and then at Stuart, who
hadn’t moved positions but had opened his eyes, returning my gaze,
waiting for the realization to hit.

And it did.

“This is what Sarah meant by you are me,
isn’t it?” No one answered. The question really was more
rhetorical. “Her soul,” I gulped the dry air in my throat, “her
soul went into me.”

Abbey’s lit up. The corners of Stuart’s mouth
twitched slightly upward.

“Stuart…you…you…have Jonathan’s.” Tears
streamed silently down my cheeks. I didn’t bother to wipe them
away. Many more would follow. Stuart shifted now, turning to hold
both my hands, steadying the queasy sensation he sensed in me.
“Just how old are you, Fairchild?”

He smiled and cocked a brow. I was pretty
sure I knew the answer. I just wanted to hear it and not speak it
myself. “I was born immediately after Jonathan’s death, in 1731.
So…bloody old.”

I made a mental note to pass out again later.
“Abbey – how old are you?”

She sang a laugh. “Well, typically old broads
like me don’t tell their age but since this is a unique situation…”
she paused for dramatic effect…”I was born in 1701, here on the
island. Sarah and I were joined at the hip and we went through a
lot together. She used to hold me, calm me when I would wail.
Clears can hear the beauty in the voices of bean sidhe because they
are in tune to the whole being. That’s why it was tolerable for
Sarah to be around me. Back then the villagers would steer clear of
me for fear they would perish if our eyes met. She and Jonathan and
of course George were the only family I had, the only ones who
loved me. And Sarah…she was something. It was extraordinary to
watch her abilities. Not only was she a Clear but she was a great
healer, tirelessly tending to the sick on the island when the fever
hit.” She had mentally left the room, her crystal blue eyes
remembering hundreds of year’s worth of memories, something no one
else could do…well, except Stuart.

“Where were you when she was killed?” I
kneeled next to Abbey, placing a hand on top hers folded in her
lap.

She shook her head, still recalling the past
with sorrow. “A couple of days before the murders I saw death come
for Sarah and Jon. I could feel the wail forming. I was
grief-stricken, inconsolable. I left for London. George met me
there after taking Jon’s soul to its new home and we stayed many
years. Eventually we returned, but Wilbur had anyone with MacPhie
blood kicked off the island permanently – so living here was
dreadful back then, even though it was home.”

She chuckled at another memory. “We probably
should have avoided moving to a big city like London. I wailed so
much there they thought I was crazy – tried to lock me up several
times!”

Her delivery made us all laugh until we
cried, something I had already been doing. Her gaze drifted again
as she recalled more. “The letter Sarah wrote – I didn’t know she
did that. I had already left but it didn’t really surprise me to
find it. She was – extremely talented. I’m certain she must have
given Jon a herbal sedative the night of her death so he wouldn’t
wake, probably an attempt to save his life. But his Guardian
instincts were strong, and he woke up anyway.” Abbey pulled a
tissue out of nowhere and blew her nose. “Very talented, she was.
To see your birth that far in the future? Astounding.” Then Abbey
face turned hard, an expression I had not seen. It was not cruel,
but said ‘wake up and smell the damn coffee.’

And then she said, “Her soul existed nowhere
until you came…you do get that, right?”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

We flew back in an actual airplane and went
straight to Stuart’s cottage. I think I was supposed to be doing
something in the bathroom when he found me sitting in a ball shape
rocking back and forth.

He leaned against the doorframe appearing
casually perfect for a 280 year-old guy. His smirk wasn’t
sarcastic, but implied I may be overreacting, which only made me
rock harder.

“Stop being laid back about this. I am so
freaking out right now, Fairchild. You’ve no idea.”

In a flash he was sitting next to me,
wrapping his arms around the perimeter of my round shape, pulling
me into him. “Sorry. I’ve had longer to process and should have
nothing but patience. But is it really that bad? That we found each
other? That our souls reconnected?”

I stopped rocking and pulled my head back to
meet his eyes. “Are you kidding me? That’s what you think this is
about…us?”

He shrugged, softly guiding a loose curl away
from the center of my face. “What then?”

“What…okay. Let’s start with what you’ve been
doing the last 280 years? Dated much?”

His brows connected together, contemplating
the correct response, I supposed. “Uh…dated? Not so much. I have
20
raveled…extensively. I know
hundreds of languages. Play many instruments – well I might
add…lot’s of practice time…waiting for you.” He glanced from the
corner of his eye to gauge my reaction. I wasn’t sure whether to
sock him in the arm or smother him with kisses. I preferred the
latter, but further interrogation was required.

“Okay, let’s shelve your many talents for a
minute. How old are your mom and dad?” It was a struggle to look at
him and avoid the physical pull. I turned my head away waiting for
him to answer. He turned my chin back toward him.

“The age parents should be for having a
seventeen year old son. Natasha and I are related. They know all
about this hocus pocus stuff. I’ve been with them since the
Seventies, when I became Stuart Fairchild. I took their last name.”
He softly kissed my mouth, not wanting more, just a nice reassuring
touch.

This opened up twenty thousand more
questions. “So you move around, change parents every, what, fifty
years?”

He motioned with his hand in a give or take
gesture, flashing a wide smile. “I’ve done different things that
will take days to tell you so I was wondering; can we spread out
the questions over, say, the next week? It is the holidays and
we’ll have lots of time.”

I was far away in Neverland with the Lost
Boys. “Do you feel Jonathan in you?”

He chuckled, but not before his eyes watered
a little. “I have old memories beneath the new ones I formed
growing up in Morocco and beyond. They have faded slightly, but I –
feel his profound grief over loosing Sarah, his regret for not
saving her. I feel his inadequacies in that regard. I know that can
never happen again, and it won’t. But more than that, do you have
any idea how long 280 years, 5 months, 3 days, and…” He glanced at
an imaginary watch on his wrist…”45 minutes is?”

There was a knock at the door, and I lost my
chance to respond. Stuart rose to answer while I threw water on my
face and rinsed my mouth out with mouthwash. Moments later he
reappeared in the doorway.

It’s…your Mum, he sent.

“Mom?” I wasn’t sure if I should hug her or
shake her hand or slug her until her usually stone face melted,
just enough to cue a cautious embrace.

“Hello, Layla. Stuart.” Stuart hugged Liz
without reservation, planting a kiss on each cheek. “Oh, okay,” she
blushed. Stuart thawed her a bit, one of his many talents before
she shifted back to business mode. “Your Dad is here too. We have
much to discuss.”

It was then I realized Christmas was just
days away. “Oh! Are you two here for the holidays?” I was confused,
because it wasn’t in her nature surrender to holiday cheer.

Her forest green eyes flashed, a tiny grin
fighting to escape. “Yes. The Fairchild’s opened their house to us.
I hope that’s okay.” She didn’t wait for a response. “Let’s go see
everyone, shall we?”

The Fairchild’s mentioned there would be
company on Christmas Eve and to expect a full house for food and
festivities, but I just assumed they referred to their friends.
Since then, the holidays hadn’t crossed my mind until now. And I
had not done one ounce of anything resembling shopping. Maybe
Sienna would go with me.

Dad and Stuart’s current dad, Colin, were in
the kitchen sipping beer. Everyone gathered around the dining room
table. I think the meeting style seating arrangement was subtle
manipulation on Liz’s part, indicating there was business attached
to the visit. So of course, she started speaking first. “Layla,
much has been revealed to you but so much remains unanswered.”

I scowled, holding up one hand for her to
stop. “PLEASE stop talking in riddles, please, I beg you.”

“Of course,” she smiled graciously attempting
to mask our history of friction in front of the Fairchild’s. “This
is complicated and difficult to know where to begin.”

“How about a summary then the back story,” I
suggested dryly.

She exhaled sharply. “I am a Clear, but your
dad is not a Guardian. At one time, I thought Colin was perhaps my
Guardian. For some reason, not every Clear has a Guardian.” They
exchanged warm smiles and Liz continued. “Colin and I did not…fall
in love. Well, let me clarify. Colin fell in love with Natasha then
I met Sam. I did love Colin at one time. That is no secret to
anyone.” Her eyes shifted down briefly, as if to recall lost
feelings.

“Correction. No secret to anyone except me,”
I quickly retorted. “Every last person in this room knows more
about my life than I do, and you’re all guilty of harboring
secrets. Even you, Fairchild.” A lame attempt at anger toward him
crashed and burned immediately when he flashed a sympathetic smile
and shrugged.

“Yes,” Liz continued, “We have been secretive
and I apologize. The element of self discovery was critical when
revealing the truth, in order for you to move forward without
cynicism.” Our eyes met and she let me read her.
Would you have
listened to me?