Blood Brothers (19 page)

And Gran was looking at her with such emotion—such profound emotion in those midnight eyes—but Lucy couldn't read it, didn't know what Gran was trying to tell her. Unsure what else to do, she turned the slate over and tucked it beneath the covers, talking gently to Gran the whole time.

“Mrs. Dempsey is going to show me everything I need to learn—the way you like the house kept, and what you like to eat, and—”

Footsteps came striding down the hall.

“—your favorite books and flowers . . .”

Matt stepped across the threshold and gave Gran his warmest smile.

“Mrs. Wetherly,” he said softly, “there's someone I'd like you to meet.”

Jared was standing behind Matt, and now Lucy saw him come forward. She heard her own breath catching in her throat—she felt herself clutching Gran's shoulder.

“Grandmother?” Jared's voice quivered, and his eyes shone with tears. “I . . . after all this time . . . I don't know what to say.”

Lucy didn't either.

For this wasn't the Jared she'd rescued.

The Jared she'd hidden in the church cellar . . . the one she'd tried to save . . .

This tall young man standing before her now was someone else.

Someone she'd never seen before in her life.

part 4

The Game, at last, was drawing to a close.

The Game he could well have played out indefinitely, stalking Lucy into final and desperate submission.

But now that his hand had been unexpectedly forced, he would stand and claim what was rightfully his.

Stand and
fight
for what was rightfully his.

Even for a master of deceit such as himself, lies could grow tiresome after so long. Flowing and fluent lies, cloaked in tragedies. Sad and seductive lies, veiled in sorrows.

Lies that slipped so easily into Lucy's tender heart, begging pity and compassion.

Lies that brought her closer.

Lies that made her trust.

And now he would be stronger than ever.

No matter that the attack in the cemetery had taken him completely by surprise. Or that the ensuing battle, though brief, had been savagely brutal.

Lucy was to blame for all of it.

Lucy, the cause of his inattention, the source of his carelessness.

A distraction he could no longer afford.

So now the Game must end.

He closed his eyes, wincing slightly, touching the bruised and bloodied skin along his side.

The last of his wounds had practically disappeared. The pain had faded off into one more bitter memory.

But the
old
wounds, the
ancient
wounds, had festered for hundreds of years, and the old scars still burned deep.

And though there had been many other battles in the past, none had ever been so important as the one he would soon be facing.

For his birthright...

His bloodline...

And for all eternity . . .

If only she'd known what was about to happen.

If only she'd been able to see how much worse, how much darker, the tragedies were that lay just ahead of her.

But it was Sunday, and she and Matt were going to Gran's, and for a few brief moments, she actually allowed herself a flicker of optimism.

So Lucy didn't know, and Lucy didn't see all those horrors yet to come.

And even if she had . . . it was already too late.

 

She'd been so excited when Matt picked her up that morning.

Excited about having dinner at Gran's house, but even more thrilled that Gran had invited her to live there while Irene was away in Paris.

And then Matt had given her the unexpected news: “Jared Wetherly called me this morning. Right after I hung up with you.”

“Called you? From where?”

“I assume from the place he's staying. Although he sounded like he was in a cave or something—it had a funny echo.”

Her mind had instantly switched to Jared. He'd been asleep when she'd last checked on him. He'd been asleep in the hiding place, and she hadn't woken him up. And now Matt was saying that Jared had
called
? Was there a phone in the church cellar? She couldn't remember one.

“He's ready to meet his grandmother,” Matt announced then.

He'd sounded so pleased about it. And though Lucy hadn't exactly anticipated this turn of events, she'd told herself she shouldn't
really
be surprised. She'd seen how Jared's wound had miraculously healed. And Jared couldn't hide forever. Sooner or later he'd have to face what was left of his family and reconnect at some level. In her heart, she'd known she should feel glad about it, but for some strange reason it had only depressed her.

“I'll drop you off at Mrs. Wetherly's,” Matt told her. “You and she can have a nice chat while I go pick up Jared—and then we'll all sit down to Mrs. Dempsey's pot roast and homemade apple pie.”

But Lucy hadn't felt much enthusiasm. “Where are you picking him up?”

“You know that bed-and-breakfast on the north edge of town?”

“You mean Stratton House?”

“I . . . think that's it. All I know is that it backs right up to the woods.”

The woods. Was that where Jared had been attacked?
she wondered. But there were lots and lots of woods around here . . . it could have happened any place.
Like the woods behind Irene's house . . . like the woods around the park . . .

“Are you okay?” Easing up on the accelerator, Matt had given her an anxious glance.

“Sure.”

“You seem a million miles away.”

“Just thinking.”

He slowed at a railroad crossing and glanced at her again. “It's gonna be fine, you know. She'll love you.”

“Thanks. But that's not what I was thinking about.”

Before he could respond, Lucy turned and fixed him with a solemn frown.

“Do you remember when Byron died, and you went to Gran's house to tell her?”

Matt looked puzzled. “Yes.”

“You said the front door was unlocked, and she was sitting up in bed, just like she was waiting for you.”

Matt nodded, but didn't speak.

“So here we are, not saying anything to her so she won't worry. But what if she already knows? What if she knew before we did?”

Matt had considered this. They'd turned onto Gran's street, and Lucy could see the Victorian house at the end of the cul-de-sac. The two of them sat there while the Jeep idled at the curb.

“How
could
she know about Jared?” Matt asked reasonably. “She
lived
with Byron—she
raised
Byron. They were close.”

“How did she seem when you told her Jared was here?”

“I haven't told her yet.”

“Matt!”

“I know, I know, but he asked me not to. He said he wanted to tell her himself. He said he wanted it to be personal and . . . and special.”

“You're the one who said another shock might kill her!”

“Well, I thought maybe if you were there with her, it wouldn't.”

“You're the priest. You're the one who's supposed to be so good at handling things like this.”

“Who told you that?” But at Lucy's sigh of exasperation, Matt had rushed on. “Look, all I'm saying is, there's no possible way she could know that Jared's coming here. There's no . . . connection, like she had with Byron. She wouldn't necessarily have any memories of Jared, if his father took him away that young. Maybe she wasn't even living here when it happened. Maybe she never even knew about Jared at all.”

“How could she know about Byron and not Jared?” Lucy insisted. “How could she not—”

“I'm late,” Matt broke in. “Sorry, but I've got to go across town.”

“That should take a good five minutes.”

“Funny. I'll be back in a little while.”

Lucy had gotten out of the Jeep, but Matt added one last thing.

“Lucy—about that headstone. I think you're right about Irene. I don't want her to be there when I take it.”

Lucy had given a distracted nod. She couldn't think about the headstone now—not with Jared and Gran to deal with. She could see Mrs. Dempsey waiting for her in the front doorway, yet she stood there on the curb, watching Matt drive away.

She didn't know why this was bothering her so much—this link between Jared and his grandmother. She supposed it was because Byron had told her about Gran's ability to “see” things before they happened. But maybe Matt was right. Maybe Gran never even knew about Jared. Maybe Jared had been a well-kept secret.

She'd walked up the sidewalk to the porch. Mrs. Dempsey had been glaring at her.

“She wants to see you right away. I got the house fixed up, just the way she likes it. Special occasion and all.”

“It looks beautiful,” Lucy agreed, noting the thoughtful touches Mrs. Dempsey had added. As on Lucy's previous visit, everything gleamed and shone; there wasn't a speck of dust to be found. Vases of fresh flowers filled the house with fragrance, wafting together with the comforting smell of roast beef and fresh-baked bread. The same large cat was here as well—only this time it watched Lucy from behind an umbrella stand in the hall.

Yes
, Lucy had thought suddenly, and with some surprise.
Yes, this is where I belong.

It had seemed so right somehow.

Almost as if she were coming home.

“Well, go on now.” Mrs. Dempsey broke into Lucy's reverie. “She's waiting.”

Lucy remembered her way to the bedroom. She walked down the hallway, then paused a moment right outside the door.

Gran motioned her in before Lucy even knocked.

Still lying in the old-fashioned bed, surrounded by fluffy white covers and soft stacked pillows trimmed in delicate lace. Her nightgown was still the color of cream, and her long braid of silvery hair still fell across one tiny, thin shoulder. It was obvious that she'd been beautiful when she was young. She still was.

“Big day,” Lucy said, almost shyly. She walked toward the bed, then began to notice that Gran wasn't smiling. That those huge dark eyes, so much like Byron's, were pinned intently on Lucy's face.

Lucy faltered. “I . . . I don't know how to thank you, Mrs. Wetherly. Byron loved you so much. I just feel . . . honored.”

Finally . . . a feeble attempt at a smile. Gran moved her left hand again and gestured for Lucy to come closer.

“What is it?” Lucy asked softly. “Is there something you want me to do?”

She could see the slate and the piece of chalk.

The painstaking movement of Gran's palsied hand as it scratched childlike letters across the surface of the slate.

DANGER.

Lucy reached out in slow motion. Trembling, she closed her fingers around Gran's.

“What is it?” she murmured. “What's wrong?”

“We're here!” Matt called from the porch.

And Gran had been looking at her with such emotion—such profound emotion in those midnight eyes—but Lucy couldn't read it, didn't know what Gran was trying to tell her. Unsure what else to do, she turned the slate over and tucked it beneath the covers, talking gently to Gran the whole time.

“Mrs. Dempsey is going to show me everything I need to learn: the way you like the house kept, and what you like to eat, and—”

Footsteps came striding down the hall.

“Your favorite books and flowers—”

Matt stepped across the threshold and gave Gran his warmest smile. “Mrs. Wetherly,” he said softly, “there's someone I'd like you to meet.”

Jared was standing behind Matt, but now Lucy saw him come forward. She heard her own breath catching in her throat . . . she felt herself clutching Gran's shoulder.

“Mrs. Wetherly?” Jared had sounded slightly uncomfortable. After one quick glance, he'd gazed at the floor. “I . . . after all this time . . . I don't know what to say.”

Lucy hadn't known either.

For this wasn't the Jared she'd rescued.

The Jared she'd hidden in the church cellar . . . the one she'd tried to save . . .

This tall young man standing beside her now was someone else.

Someone she'd never seen before in her life.

“Lucy?”

Had someone spoken? Had someone said her name?

“Lucy, I want you to meet Jared.”

Or was she just imagining it?

The voice seemed oddly familiar, yet, at the same time, distant and disconnected—the same way
she
was feeling disconnected from this silent tableau around her: Matt in the doorway with a puzzled frown; Mrs. Dempsey behind him in the hall, wiping her eyes with a balled-up handkerchief; Gran lying so small and still in the bed, with Lucy's hand still clutching her shoulder. And all of them staring at the young man who'd suddenly walked into their midst.

The young man Lucy had never seen before.

“Lucy?”

Who
was
that? Lucy was sure she knew the voice but was at a loss to identify it. She was sure she knew the room, and the house, but, for that same inexplicable reason, sensed that everything had suddenly changed.