Aerenden: The Child Returns (Ærenden) Read online

  He nodded. Her anger gave way to hurt, but she covered it with a thin smile and exited the apartment, embracing the cold once more.

  CHAPTER TWO

  NICK AWOKE to the bright stream of the mid-morning sun piercing his bedroom window. When Meaghan had left last night, he had been confused, angry for the way he had handled their encounter. This morning, he knew what he had to do to make things right between them, but rather than bring him peace, his clarity planted dread in his stomach as heavy as a ball of lead. It had slowed his morning routine, stalled his feet as he moved, but eventually he forced his muscles to cooperate.

  He left his apartment and crossed the yard, then opened the screen door to the two-story home Vivian and James shared and hesitated, his hand resting on the handle of the back door. Vivian would not be happy with his decision. She would see it as a betrayal, or perhaps even an abandonment of his duties.

  He could not blame her. When Meaghan had kissed him, his reaction had been forgivable. Although he had let it go on longer than he should have, he had made his boundary clear. Last night, he had let that boundary crumble. He and Meaghan had been too close. The warmth of her body had charged him. Her crying had born in him the instinct to protect her. It had been the same need to protect her that had caused him to break their contact before any damage had been done.

  But he feared his actions would soon cause damage to his relationship with Vivian. After all, he would not need to make this decision if he had done his job. But if meant changing the past and no one had the power to do that.

  “I have to do this,” he said to reaffirm his courage, and turned the handle, entering without knocking.

  Vivian stood at the kitchen island, her focus steady on a cookbook resting on the counter. Waving the wooden spoon in her right hand, she indicated a stool opposite her. “Sit,” she commanded without looking at him.

  Nick obeyed. Vivian returned the spoon to a bowl resting in the crook of her arm and mixed a light pink batter. She hated interruptions when she cooked and Nick respected that, remaining silent as she worked.

  Her movements were fluid, stemming from a natural grace inherent to her lean and limber body. She and her daughter shared the same physique, but otherwise, they looked nothing like each other. Meaghan’s hair graced the tops of her shoulders. Vivian’s hung to her waist most days, though today she had corralled it into a bun, and the color resembled fire rather than the dark night that belonged to her daughter. Vivian’s eyes were green, instead of Meaghan’s copper, and they peered at him from a face more angular than Meaghan’s, but still quite beautiful.

  Vivian let go of the spoon to pull a loose strand of hair behind her ear and the familiar gesture eased his anxiety. So did the smile that tugged at the corners of her lips after she dipped her finger into the bowl and sampled the batter. He knew he should not feel better, not when he still had his news to share, but having a face similar to his mother’s to gaze upon eased some of his worry.

  “Stop that,” Vivian said, setting her bowl aside.

  “Stop what? Are those rhubarb muffins?”

  “They are. And stop staring at me with that look of terror on your face.”

  “I’m not. Finish what you’re doing.”

  “Not a chance. I’ve known you too long for you to fool me so don’t bother trying.” She leaned over the counter to press his chin between her thumb and forefinger. “Your eyes are sad today, Nickaulai.”

  Despite the truth in her words, her use of his full name brought a grin to his lips. He took her hand in his and kissed it. “Nickaulai,” he echoed. “The last time you called me that, I was in trouble for pulling a prank on our neighbor. Am I in trouble now?”

  She laughed. “Hardly. It’s nice Meaghan finds comfort in your friendship. She was at your place last night, wasn’t she?”

  Nick’s shoulders stiffened and he let go of Vivian’s hand. “She had another dream.”

  “I suspected as much,” Vivian responded with no hint of anger and he relaxed again. “It won’t be long before it’s time to tell her the truth.”

  “I’m not sure she’s ready.”

  Vivian raised an eyebrow. “It sounds to me like it’s you who doesn’t feel ready.”

  “Maybe,” he admitted. “She’s a handful. She’s headstrong and she’s too impulsive for her own good.”

  The corners of Vivian’s mouth quirked up again. “I thought that’s what you liked about her.”

  “Except when she doesn’t listen to me,” Nick muttered. He looked out the window, his attention drawn to the stairs for his apartment, and the memory from last night. He quickly chased it away. “She’ll get into trouble.”

  “That isn’t new,” Vivian pointed out. “And as usual, you’ll get her out of it.”

  “If she doesn’t outwit me. She’s smarter than I am.”

  “Is she?” Vivian asked. Her eyebrow shot up again and Nick realized too late that a drop in his tone had given away his true fear. Vivian laid a palm on one of his hands. He flipped it around to curl his fingers into hers and looked down at them.

  “That’s far from the truth, Nick,” she told him. Her voice turned serious, motherly. “You’re as smart as Meaghan. She may like to challenge you, but I have no doubt you’ll match her when it matters.”

  In the back of his mind, he wished she was right, but reality overwhelmed what little hope he held. The facts had presented themselves, and he found them overwhelming.

  “She’s supposed to be in high school,” he said, “yet she’s half-way through her second year of college. I’m having trouble getting through my first year. On top of that, when we debate, she always wins. I can’t even begin to comprehend her logic.”

  “You’re not from here,” Vivian responded. “If you were, you’d have skipped grades the same as she did.” She lifted her free hand to pat his cheek and then leaned back, severing their connection. “Your debates are a different matter. You can’t follow her logic because you’re distracted.”

  “Distracted? By what?”

  “By the reason you came to see me this morning, by your attraction to her.”

  He swallowed hard. “You know?”

  “Of course. Have you forgotten who I am?”

  He had not, but he had assumed she would have reprimanded him by now if she had known. “Then you also know why I have to leave.”

  “No, I don’t.” Vivian walked around the counter to sit next to him. “I don’t see why you have to leave at all.”

  “Because you disagree with the Council,” Nick said, and sighed. “I realize you think they’re being overprotective, but the consequences are not their invention. They have centuries of evidence to back their decree.”

  She nodded. “And you’re afraid you’ll be subject to those consequences.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? I can’t risk everything we’ve done and the sacrifices you and James have made because I’m attracted to Meaghan. I have to stay strong to succeed.”

  “You are strong, Nick. You do an injustice by thinking otherwise.”

  “I know my limitations,” he countered. “I’ll be fine once I distance myself from her.”

  “Maybe,” Vivian responded. “But maybe not. Sometimes life isn’t as predictable as you want, and sometimes you have to give in to weakness to become stronger.”

  “I have to…” he repeated, and then pressed his lips together as he tried to decipher what she had said. He shook his head, frustrated. “How can I be both weak and strong?” he asked. “That doesn’t make any—”

  She silenced him with a kiss to the forehead. Drawing her fingers to his face, she traced a shadow below his eye. “I see the pain you’re in, Nick. I understand why you believe it’s warranted, but you need to listen to me. Things aren’t what they seem. The only way you’ll succeed is if you follow your heart.”

  “My heart tells me what I’m doing is dangerous.”

  “That’s your head talking.”

  “Stop, please.” He too
k her hand, and tightened his fingers around it. “Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

  “I’m not trying to,” she assured him, and he let go of her hand. “You’ve made up your mind already, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right,” she conceded. Standing, she brought her arms around him. He pressed his face into her neck as he remembered doing in childhood. “If this is what you want to do, I won’t say any more about it. You have my love, Nick, and my guidance when you need it.” He lifted his head from her shoulder and she brought her lips to his forehead once more. “I’ll miss you. It’s been nice having you around.”

  “It’s been nice for me too,” he told her, then frowned when her eyes shot to the door and widened. “She’s back?” he guessed on a whisper.

  Vivian nodded, responding in a hushed voice of her own. “I should’ve been paying closer attention.”

  “Did she overhear?”

  “Only the last part,” Vivian answered, returning her eyes to his. “But she’ll guess you’re leaving. You should talk to her.”

  Nick nodded. His nerves returned as he slid from the stool and exited the kitchen into the living room. Meaghan stood in front of a bookshelf on the far wall, examining a collection of porcelain figurines James had given Vivian to commemorate special occasions over the years. Her guilty pleasures, Vivian liked to call them.

  Meaghan traced her finger over the head of a small white dove, and then tensed when Nick put his hands on her shoulders.

  “I know you heard,” he said. She turned to look up at him. Tears shimmered in her eyes, but he did his best to ignore them. “I wish there was some other way.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked. He shrugged, tucking his hands into his pockets and she frowned. “This is about us, isn’t it?”

  “It’s complicated,” he said, then reconsidered his words as she pressed her lips together. “I wish I could explain, but it’s not possible right now.”

  “Of course it isn’t,” she said, sarcasm turning her voice hard. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t know why I’m surprised by that. You’ve made a habit of not telling me anything, of pushing me away, and I’m tired of it.”

  “Meg, please. It’s not that simple—”

  “It is.” Her tears escaped, streaking down her face, but she shoved them away, stepping back from him when he reached for her. “Nothing’s so complicated that you couldn’t at least try to explain. You just don’t want to.”

  “Meg—”

  “Meaghan,” she snapped. “Only family's allowed to call me Meg. You've lost the right.”

  Her words stung more than he cared to admit, but before he had the chance to respond, she turned and stormed from the room.

  CHAPTER THREE

  A LITTLE more than thirty minutes later, Nick opened his door to find Meaghan standing on his landing, holding a plate of muffins. Heat rose from the muffins in wisps, casting the smell of sweet strawberries and bitter rhubarb into the air. His stomach would have rumbled, if his anxiety at the sight of her had not silenced his hunger.

  “I wasn’t expecting you,” he said.

  “Don’t think I’m not still mad,” she told him. “But I thought we should talk. I brought breakfast.”

  “I see.” Nick chuckled, feeling relieved. Meaghan might be mad still, but she had come, which meant her anger would dissolve in time. He stepped aside, letting her into the apartment, then tucked his hands into his pockets and waited.

  After a moment, Meaghan cleared her throat. “Mom and I had a long discussion. It, um,” she dropped her eyes to the plate in her hands. “It seems I was being childish.”

  “Maybe you were,” he said, and then held up a hand when her head snapped up, her heated gaze locking on him. “But you’re entitled. I’m not exactly the easiest person to be around.”

  Meaghan sighed and set the muffins down on the coffee table. “That’s the thing. You’re not as difficult as you think, but you’re aloof. I don’t understand why.”

  “You will when you see me next.”

  “When will that be?”

  “Soon,” he responded. She stiffened and he brought his hands to her shoulders. “I’d tell you if I knew, Meaghan, but I promise it won’t be long.”

  “Meg,” she corrected, and he knew she had forgiven him. He drew her close, and then pressed his cheek to the top of her head when she relaxed in his arms. The next time they met, she would know his secret and their relationship would change, but for now, in this moment, the stillness of the friendship bonding them brought peace.

  He wanted to etch the feeling into his memory, but he did not get the chance. Meaghan tensed, and then jerked from his arms, her wide eyes seeking the house over his shoulder.

  “There’s something wrong,” she whispered. She shivered and he gripped her shoulders once more. “There’s so much,” she gasped. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Pain,” she continued, though Nick could tell she struggled to form her words. Her eyes refocused on him. “It feels so real.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Me neither.” She shook her head as if to clear it. “It hurts, but it’s foreign. It’s like a dream.”

  Nick’s heart hammered when he realized what she meant. “No,” he murmured. “It can’t be.”

  “Nick…” Meaghan began, but her voice faded as her eyes found the house again. Her face turned white. Her hands trembled, and Nick grasped them between his own. Closing his eyes, he bowed his head to focus.

  “We have to help them,” she insisted. “We have to hurry.”

  Her hands disappeared from his. He felt her brush past him and opened his eyes in time to loop an arm around her waist, preventing her from escaping the apartment. “Don’t,” he said. “We can’t go in there without knowing what we’re facing.”

  “I have to.” She pushed against him, but he did not release his hold. She reacted to a drive she could not control and as much as he worried he might hurt her, he tightened his grip to protect her. “Something’s wrong,” she said. “Please, Nick. I can’t—”

  “Be quiet,” he commanded, his sharp tone silencing her. He shut his eyes and focused again. When he found what he feared most, his eyes popped open in panic. “This isn’t happening. I would’ve sensed them before now.”

  “Who?”

  Rather than respond, he grabbed her hand and yanked her toward the door. He had no time to explain. He had to save her life, even if it meant bringing her straight into danger.

  §

  THEY FLED from the apartment, down the stairs and across the yard. Meaghan was certain she would have collapsed if Nick had not been pulling her along behind him. She felt weak and useless, overwhelmed by pain she could not understand. She ached from it. She forced herself to breathe, to think, though her lungs followed the direction better than her brain. She registered the cold air, the grass as it passed under her feet, but she did not notice when Nick abruptly halted until she bumped into his back. Letting go of her hand, he bowed his head as he had in the apartment, then cracked open the back door to the house.

  “Is it safe?” she asked.

  “They aren’t in the kitchen,” he responded. “We have to take the chance.”

  “What chance?” She grabbed his arm. “Nick—”

  He finished opening the door and Meaghan’s grip weakened, the remainder of her words forgotten. The pristine kitchen her mother treasured looked to have exploded. Colorful mixing bowls and apothecary jars, once stacked on display, lay in shards on the counters, joined by dented pots and pans that used to hang from the ceiling. Drawers gaped open, yanked from their homes, and the refrigerator and cabinets stood empty, their contents strewn across the floor.

  A scream came from the living room followed by a series of crashes. Pain surged through Meaghan and she froze, one foot over the threshold.

  Nick turned to look at her. “There’s no time to stop,” he said, and then hardened his tone when she did no
t move. “Meg!”

  She snapped her eyes to his and obeyed. Half-way through the kitchen, he slowed his pace as heavy footsteps thundered from above. He held his finger to his lips and she nodded. She followed him into the living room, freezing once more when she saw the horror that greeted them.

  Furniture, upended and broken into pieces, shared the carpet with pages torn from their bindings, cast aside like large snowflakes. Deep grooves in the walls bled drywall and wood splinters. And every figurine her mother had collected had been shattered, turned into pale shards and dust. This was no longer her home, but a nightmare ripped from her worst dreams.

  A groan came from the far side of the room and Meaghan turned her head toward it. A man sat on one side of the couch, his body slumped halfway toward the floor. His legs and arms hung at odd angles, and tears in his pants and shirt revealed deep gashes in his skin. Blood poured from a wound in his head, flowing over a face she refused to believe belonged to her father. It sank in places where his bones had collapsed, giving him a hollowed look. She felt sick. Covering her mouth, she sought her father’s eyes. They appeared empty, nearly black.

  “This isn’t real,” she whispered. She squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s only a dream. I have to wake up.”

  Another groan came from the couch, drawing her attention back to her father. He moved his lips and Nick ran to him, leaning close to hear. After a few seconds, Nick took something from her father’s pocket, then moved to the center of the floor. Lifting a loose floorboard, he pulled a backpack from beneath it.

  Meaghan commanded her body to move, turning to her left to pick up the hallway phone. Before she could call for an ambulance, her attention fell on the stairs. Her mother lay stretched across the landing, her unseeing eyes staring toward the ceiling, her back and neck bent at odd angles. Meaghan choked on the scream trapped inside her throat.

  “Meg,” Nick called to her from across the room. He kept his voice low. “We need to get your father out of here. You have to help me carry him.”