a Touch of Intrigue (26 page)

I stuck my head in, closed my eyes, and looked around. The back panel was slightly off kilter, the angle only visible through my Pierce-vision. I backed out of the cupboard and headed for the laundry room—the most likely place Millie would store a toolbox. That rear panel was coming out one way or another. I found a screwdriver with some heft, and made my way back to the kitchen. The contortions I had to go through to reach that back panel were video-worthy, and I was grateful no one had their phone at the ready to immortalize the scene, and post it on the Internet. I acquired a few interesting bruises, scraped knuckles, and some X-rated words had colored Millie’s kitchen before I found enough leverage to pry the panel loose.

It unexpectedly sprang free, and I jammed the sharp end of the screwdriver into the bottom of the cabinet. I couldn’t work it free with the panel halfway out, so I had to manipulate that back panel around the screwdriver. Frustrating beyond all reason, especially when I discovered nothing but bare wallboard behind it.

My spirits sagged. Too many dead ends, and I didn’t have any clues to follow. Other than the undiscovered file Millie and Makani hid in the ceiling of my house. But my spidey sense knew those papers didn’t have anything to do with the formula. There had to be something else. No immediate ideas came to mind, so I twisted, turned, and finally worked the screwdriver free from the bottom of the cupboard.

And out came the entire bottom shelf. Looked like I’d have to replace a cupboard for Millie and…

There was a book. Dark cover. Hard to see in the shadows because it had been nestled into a depression under the bottom of the cupboard.

My heart pounded so hard, I saw stars. It had to be my mother’s notes.

I reached for it, jerked my hand back. No telling what images were attached to it, so I stood and paced around the kitchen until my insides calmed. Then I grounded myself with deep breathing, and finally touched the notebook. Images passed over my internal screen, some fast, some slow, all of them showed the various steps needed to create the formula. They were in my head now, had become my property that no one could take away—short of a lobotomy. But no one ever needed to know I’d stored the images.

I huffed out a sigh. It was a hell of a weight to carry. And then I lifted the book from its hiding place, and hugged it tightly to my chest. Screwy as it was, this belonged to me. It was in my blood. And Tynan’s. And Cait’s.

I opened the heavy, black tag board cover, and ran my fingers over the pages. Some were worn and stained with a wild arrangement of spots and splotches. Some were so pristine they sparkled in the afternoon sunlight. Whatever. They belonged to me now, were my responsibility.

Familiar voices seeped into my awareness. Siofra and Millie. They came in the front door, chattering like old friends do, not noticing me until they’d strapped on aprons and washed their hands. Women on a mission. When they finally turned around and spotted me sitting on the floor, their attention immediately riveted on the book in my hands. And then they flanked me, Siofra on my right, and Millie on my left.

“It’s her work bible.” I nodded toward the cupboard. “Buried under the cabinet.” My words sounded strange to me. Scared. Awed. Strained.

I skimmed the pages, two sets of eyes reading over my shoulders. When I came to a drawing of the first plant, I stopped, brushed my fingers over the page. “I didn’t know she was an artist. The leaves almost come alive on the page.

Millie patted my arm. “She doodled, sketched, and painted all the time when she was a child, but stopped after the…Amazon.”

“It’s okay. I know about what happened, About Eamon Grady abusing her.”

Millie’s rosy cheeks drained white. “Oh, my. She turned a chair away from the table and sat down. “But there are things you don’t know.”

“Do I need to grab a chair?”

“Yes, Child, I believe you do.”

TWENTY-FIVE

THE COTTAGE KITCHEN CLOSED IN
around me while I waited for Millie to start talking. I fought for a full breath. How was it possible my family had buried so damn many secrets?

Millie shifted in her chair. “You know your mother was pregnant when she left the Amazon, probably only a few days, but definitely pregnant. She lost that child in a miscarriage a few weeks later. We never did tell anyone. For the first few months, we pretended she was just gaining weight more slowly than normal, and then she went into seclusion.

“Who was she hiding from?”

“Fred. Anyone associated with the government. Makani had seen that there would another pregnancy within a few months, so we knew it was safe to pretend. The child your mother lost would have been born at the end of August, so we always celebrated your birthday on the twenty-first. It was one of the many ways Loyria and James set up to protect you. There are papers—and an entire new identity should you ever need it—prepared with your real birthdate. They’re among the things Aukele hid in your house. Aside from this information about the toxin, those papers are probably the most important tangible thing Loyria and James cached for you to find.”

I went stupid numb, my brain too stunned to function. I must have looked shell-shocked, because next thing I knew, Siofra had wrapped her arms around me in a gentle hug. “Breathe,
mo iníon
. The news will settle into you bones over time.”

Millie nodded. “You were born the following November, the twenty-third.”

Siofra gave me a quick squeeze, then stood, all business. “Well, then, and doesn’t that make a bit more sense.”

I stared at her, mouth hanging open. Millie shot her a completely befuddled look.

Siofra tossed her hands up. “Our girl is a Sagittarius, a fire sign. She’s a wanderer, an explorer, and a truth seeker with a generous amount of independence. She makes the world a better place.”

What the heck? I didn’t know shit about astrology. “I do?”

“Yes, you do,” Millie said. She stood, and then with surprising strength, pulled me up. “I believe we have some chemistry to attend to.”

Siofra smiled, enigmatic. “And a hand-fasting to plan.”

My head hadn’t caught up to chemistry experiments, much less a hand-fasting. My mind couldn’t get past the double birthday issue. “So, if I’ve been living under a pseudo-false identity for my entire life, does that mean I’m protected from Tynan’s enemies?”

Siofra sorted through the plants, her lips pursed. “If you use your real birthdate, and new social security number, probably. But I think you’d have to bury Everly, and rebirth yourself with your new name. Do you know what Everly’s other name is, Millie?”

“Oh, no. Only Loyria and James ever knew the details.”

It was enough for me. I’d run it by Pierce, see if having a new identity at the ready eased some of his worries. “All right, ladies. Let’s make a toxic formula so I can figure out how to kill it.”

THREE HOURS LATER MILLIE’S KITCHEN
was a mess, dirty pots piled in the sink, green goo splashed on the counters, and the entire cottage wreaked of pungent plants. The pots could be washed, and used again, but there was one sterilized glass container that would have to be detoxified—as soon as I figured out how to do that. We were very careful to only combine the plants in that one container, and before they’d been mixed, we’d all donned gloves and treated the jar like it was filled with TNT. Not that any of us were going to swallow it, but it seemed safer to take precautions.

Swallowing the knot of fear that had lodged in my throat, I picked up the jar. “I’ll carry it. Both of you stay away in case I trip.”

They stripped off their gloves, dropped them in a plastic bag we’d set aside for contaminated material, and we made our way to the garden, cautiously, slowly. “Are you sure this is the right thing to do, Siofra?”

“Positive.” There was no doubt in her voice. “The process was clearly defined in Loyria’s notes, and I quote: ‘All testing must be done in the garden. The four
living
specimens that make up the formula are planted there. All four must be present and healthy to sustain the power that will control the spread of the poison. If the formula has been correctly prepared, and is lethal, the plant you feed will die immediately.’ I trust your mother, Everly, don’t you?”

“Yes. No. I’m honestly not sure. This is a big responsibility, and she’s not here to fix it if something goes wrong.

Millie had been mumbling since we left the cottage, and it was beginning to annoy me. “What is it you’re muttering?”

“Prayers. We can use some outside assistance with this.”

She had that right. “Yep. I’m on board with that, just please pray silently.”

She frowned. “Okay. But, Siofra, I want to know how you could quote Loyria’s notes so precisely. It isn’t natural to remember things like that word-for-word.”

Siofra tugged at her baggy pants, and it gave me a momentary break from the tension surrounding us. Tynan’s mom almost always wore long skirts, and was in the habit of swishing them around when she was agitated. It had to be frustrating for her to wear unswishable clothes. Her voice brought me back to reality.

“I memorized it, Millie. Of all the information in Loyria’s notebook, that notation was the most critical to preserve the health and well-being of our planet. It would be grossly irresponsible of us to dispense this poison without a failsafe.”

My shoulders ached with the responsibility. “Maybe both of you should go back to the cottage. I can do this alone, and it would be better to poison one person than three.” A shudder worked its way through my bones. I’d just found Pierce. Surely it wasn’t my time to die.

They gave me identical headshakes. No words were necessary, as both of my “mothers” had mastered the art of ordering their children to shut the hell up with little more than a glance.

The garden loomed straight ahead. My steps faltered. “Are we absolutely positive this is the best thing to do?”

“Yes.” Two voices. One answer.

“Okay, then. Which plant is going to sacrifice its life for the benefit of science?”

Siofra’s eyebrows shot up. “Ask
them,
iníon
, not us.”

“Doesn’t that seem…painful?”

Millie touched my sleeve. “They’re plants, Child, not people. They don’t have our fears.”

“It’s just that killing anything bothers me.” Images of Fion Connor and Eamon Grady flashed in my mind. “Well, anything that’s innocent.”

We’d reached the garden, and I set the glass jar on a barren section of ground. “Millie, will you please stand guard while I chat with the plants. And Siofra, will you ask them too? I’d like to be positive we select the right plant.”

“Yes. Let’s sit on our usual boulders. Tradition is a good foundation at times like this.”

We sat. I took my gloves off and set them aside. My hands hadn’t touched any of the liquid, and the gloves made my palms sweat.

My rock had been absorbing sun all day, and it provided comforting warmth that seeped up through my torso. I spread my focus over the garden, visualized a layer of energy connecting me to the plants, and waited.

All four pieces of sea glass from my bracelets began to hum. I rubbed them. Thank goodness I’d removed my gloves. The humming got louder, shooting a message through my fingertips, but I had no idea what it was trying to tell me. The glass had become a living, breathing part of my life, and often sang when I needed reassurance or comfort, but this was a different sound. One I’d never heard or felt. I tuned in, deepening my connection with the glass.

One of the pieces, the largest one, wanted to be released. I quickly unfastened it, and tucked it into my pocket. This was a bad time to have my concentration interrupted by a demanding piece of sea glass. Fortunately, my other bracelets quieted, and I was able to keep on task.

It didn’t take long before a scraggly shrub at the edge of the plot stood out from the rest. “Do you see that older shrub, Siofra. I could be wrong, but it sounds…tired. Is that the one.”

She patted my hand. “Yes, I believe so. Shall we proceed, then?”

I wanted to get this over with. “It will either work or not, and waiting isn’t going to change the outcome.” I worked my hands into the gloves again, then circled the garden, back toward Millie and the formula she’d been guarding. With a silent prayer to the goddess, I picked it up, and headed for the shrub. Reaching into the earth, I grounded myself, chased all doubt aside, and slowly poured some of the liquid around the base of the plant. When the ground was saturated, I set the jar aside, stripped off my gloves, stepped back and joined hands with Siofra and Millie. “Sorry about the sweaty palms.” They only held on tighter. These women were my family. My “moms,” and it was only right I share this moment with them, the culmination of a process my mother had set in motion so many years ago.

Late afternoon sunlight sent a soft glow over the garden, and there we stood, representing three phases of life: young woman, matron, and crone, all bearing witness to an infinite power. To kill or to heal. That was our responsibility to determine.

Like time-lapse photography, the shrub crumpled.

The three of us breathed a collective sigh, and I let go of their hands, scrubbed my palms on my cargoes. “All right. Now how do we fix it, make it a healing potion instead of a killer?”

The sea glass in my pocket was practically shouting at me. “What the hell?” I whipped it out, tried to rub it into its usual calm state.