Kristie Cook - Devotion

I awoke several hours later, the late afternoon sun casting an orange glow over the cypress trees outside our window. I felt like a brand-new person, which was exactly what sleep did for us–it completely regenerated our cells. I took a bath in a marble tub large enough for a party … or a lot of fun for just two, which made me wonder where Tristan was.

He and Dorian were not upstairs in our wing, so I meandered down the stone steps to the main level of the mansion. I refused to use the telepathy to find anyone and instead used regular old Norman thinking. The sitting room and the kitchen made the most sense for where they might be and the sitting room was closer. I heard someone moving about inside and headed there first.

As soon as I entered, I regretted it. I didn't find Tristan and Dorian. Rather, Rina stood by the coffee table, holding Tristan's and my history books. I didn't want to talk to her yet, but I didn't want her to take our books, either.

"I'm sorry," I muttered, moving into the room and reaching my hand out for the books. "I didn't mean to leave them lying around. I can take them–"

"Oh, no, darling. They must be returned to the Sacred Archives."

"We don't get to keep them?"

"I am sorry, dear, but as your stories continue, they can only be written in the Sacred Archives."

I silenced a growl building in my chest. "But I'm not done reading the past."

"You have read the whole thing, no?"

"Well, yeah, but that's not what I mean. I want to study it more."

She shifted the books into one arm and lifted her free hand to tap my temple with a finger. "If you have read its entirety, its entirety rests in there."

I scowled, not understanding.

"Look into your own mind, Alexis. It is all in there."

Then I realized what she meant. I didn't simply remember what I'd read last night enough to summarize, but I could actually visualize the entire contents of my history book, word-for-word. Wicked.

"Rina?"

She was headed out the door and turned in the doorway. "Yes, darling?"

I hesitated, annoyed at all the "darlings." How could she be so warm after accusing me of being a liar? I thought about quelling my curiosity, but the question came out before I could stop it. "Who writes the books?"

The corners of her mouth turned up in a slight smile. "It is the secret of the Sacred Archives, but I imagine the Angels write them."

"Oh." I said no more. She didn't believe me earlier, so I definitely didn't mention what I'd been thinking.

"I am sure you are hungry, no? I will have food brought to you here." She disappeared before I could say anything.

I gnawed on my bottom lip as I walked the perimeter of the sitting room. Like the rest of the mansion, the walls were made of stone; only a single, narrow window interrupted it, showing the darkened sky and grounds. A blazing fire in the hearth produced the only light, casting dancing shadows on the walls from the antique furniture and filling the room with a relaxing, woody scent. Besides the family vine hanging, which covered the entire wall it hung on, other tapestries decorated the remaining walls. They appeared to be old, yet well kept, each depicting a glimpse into ancient battles between angels and demons.

When I turned around from one, I sucked in a breath. The coffee table displayed a spread of food. I'd never heard anyone bring it and Rina had only been gone a few minutes.

"Ophelia?" I asked–she couldn't have been far already. The old witch popped right in front of me.

"Yes, Ms. Alexis?"

I'd expected her to come through the door, and she surprised me with her sudden appearance. "Um … where does all this food come from? I mean, is it brought in by boat every day or what?"

She nodded her gray head. "We grow some on the island, but most of it is brought in as regular deliveries."

"Who knows the island is here?"

"Only the Amadis. The Daemoni have an inkling of its location, but cannot see it for themselves."

"Because of the shield?"

"Shields protect. Cloaks make the item or area invisible," she clarified.

"Right. Must be a powerful shield and cloak," I said, thinking of the size of the island.

"Oh, yes. Mr. Martin is more powerful than any of us."

"Owen's dad? He powers the shield?"

"Yes, Ms. Alexis. He is our strongest mage by far and no one but himself can break his shields. Not even the Daemoni. The rest of us mages keep it reinforced, especially when he is off-island."

The tight belt of stress constricting my chest loosened a notch. Knowing Martin's shield protected us and kept the Daemoni out–kept them from taking my son–was a bit of a relief. I gave Ophelia a small smile.

"Thank you, Ophelia."

She curtsied. "Certainly, Ms. Alexis. Is there anything else?"

"No–wait. Do you know where Tristan and Dorian are?"

"They finished their evening meal a few minutes ago. I believe Mr. Tristan took Mr. Dorian upstairs for a bath."

I thought about joining them, but the spread of food beckoned me. Father and son needed their time together anyway, and I'd see Dorian before bed. So I sat on one of the old couches, its leather soft and supple from age, and began loading a plate with sausage, cheese, grapes, apple slices and bread that was crusty on the outside and soft and warm in its center. Except for the couple bites of croissant and strawberry at breakfast, I couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten, and I devoured two plates full, along with two glasses of red wine. Then I lay on the couch, closed my eyes and perused the mental pages of my book.

I found no mention of my daughter or of a girl. Not that I'd expected to–I'd studied the book for hours last night. I would have remembered anything about a daughter, but the book only mentioned the lack of one. If it had been written by the Angels, messengers of God, the story surely would have mentioned my daughter if she truly existed. Right? Why wouldn't they include her in the book or on the vine?

Which meant I either misheard at today's meeting or I didn't get the full story. Perhaps Mom and Rina were right. And even if they weren't, even if I really did hear Tristan and I already had a daughter, we had no information to use to search for her. If I wanted answers–

"I've been looking for you." Tristan's lovely voice broke into my thoughts. I opened my eyes as he lifted my legs to sit on the couch with me and then dropped them to drape over his lap.

I sat halfway up. "Is Dorian with you?"

"He's in bed."

"So early?"

"It's not that early. It's nearly ten."

I hadn't realized I'd been lying on the couch, lost in my own mind, for so long. My heart sank as I sagged back against the cushions. "I miss him so much and I've barely spent any time with him since we've been here."

"I think I wiped him out. He crashed pretty quickly."

"I'm glad you at least got to spend time with him. He's great, isn't he?"

"The best." Tristan smiled proudly. "He loves me."

"Of course he does. What'd you expect?"

"We're practically strangers. I suppose I thought he'd be more leery or shy."

"Hmph. Dorian is afraid of nothing. Besides, I've been telling him stories about you since he was born. He's missed you, too."

"Thank you," Tristan murmured. He bent over and brushed his lips across mine. "So what were you thinking so hard about?"

I didn't answer him at first, still sorting out my thoughts, and when I did, it wasn't exactly what I'd been thinking. "You flashed with me again. At the council meeting. You're getting pretty good at that."

Leading in a flash and following someone's flash trail were fairly common, but flashing with someone else was supposed to be impossible. Tristan had done it with me four times in the last week.