“How sweet!”
“I guess so.” I tossed Maggie the phone so she could read the message. “But all things considered, why in the world is he still talking to me? Last night was like a freaking episode of the Twilight Zone. What normal guy would be into that?”
“Eh, normal is overrated,” Maggie replied matter-of-factly.
I thought of the sympathetic look in his eyes as I’d spilled my guts about all the freaky stuff that had been happening, of the reassuring pressure of his hand in mine. Most of the guys I knew would’ve run for the hills by now. But Ty hadn’t.
I took my phone back from Maggie and stared at the screen, contemplating a reply.
“Hey, Styles?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re blushing.” Maggie giggled and then winked at me.
“Oh, shut up!” I reached over to smack her, but she darted out of the way with a laugh. “I am not. I’m just trying to figure out a response that doesn’t make me sound like a complete psycho.”
“Say what you want, Styles. But I can read you like a book.” Maggie smirked again and started making kissing noises.
“God, Maggie! What are you, five years old?” I pulled a comic book from the messenger bag around her shoulders and tossed it at her. “Here, read about that green lamp guy and quit distracting me.”
“Lantern,” Maggie corrected. “It’s the Green Lantern!”
“Whatever. Same thing!”
Maggie mockingly gripped her chest as though she were in pain. “You wound me, Styles. You wound me.”
“Maggie!”
“Okay, okay.” Maggie threw her hands up in surrender. “Be sure to tell Pretty Face I said hello.” And with one final kissy noise, she turned her attention to her comic book.
With Maggie’s teasing voice echoing in my ear, I recalled the moment Ty had brought me back from the brink with Josephine. The whole evening was starting to blur together, and the moments after Josephine’s appearance were the fuzziest of all.
Yet, I could distinctly remember the feel of Ty’s hands, the way his fingers had pressed into my back as he held me. I could still see the worry burning in his eyes as he tried to calm me, and the very thought of how his strong arms had wrapped around me, forceful yet gentle at the same time, was enough to get my heart pounding again. I remembered the undeniable feeling of security I’d felt wrapped in his arms, the sound of his husky voice murmuring words of comfort in my ear. I shivered just thinking about it all.
Beside me, Maggie giggled. “I saw that, Styles.” She eyed me suggestively, and this time my whole face ignited, betraying me. “I knew you were thinking about it.”
I rolled my eyes and quickly tapped out a short reply on my phone. I hit send and tossed the phone back into my bag. “You’re something else, Mags.”
“I know. That’s why you love me,” Maggie replied sweetly, flipping her comic book shut with an audible snap.
“Oh, yeah? Well, that’s debatable.” I laughed. “Now, come on. I should get going.”
“Heading home, then?”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “Gareth will be home soon. It’s time he and I had a talk.”
Gareth’s truck was parked in its usual spot in front of the house. I parked next to it and opened my car door, wincing as the creaky hinges grated against my frazzled nerves.
I walked slowly up the walkway. I hated how nervous I felt; I’d wanted to confront Gareth with strength and confidence, but now that the conversation was moments away, I was the exact opposite of brave. I was a lamb being led to the slaughter.
Stop it, Lainey. He’s your uncle, not an executioner. I straightened my shoulders and walked toward Gareth’s office. It was where he spent most of his time when he was home.
Pushing the door open, I stuck my head inside.
Two of the four walls of the room were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and a large antique desk sat near a large window with a wide bench seat. The other wall was decorated in large maps that were covered in Post-it notes, Gareth’s neat handwriting scrawled across them.
I’d always loved the way the room smelled of old, well-loved books. Some of my favorite childhood memories were of Gareth and me sprawled out together on the large rug, flipping through antique encyclopedias and atlases, of reading The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and The Hobbit.
I scanned the room and frowned. It was empty. That’s strange.
The rest of the house was quiet, and I’d been certain I’d find Gareth behind his desk, poring over papers. I shrugged, turned toward the door, and stopped.
One of the bookshelves on the far wall was leaning precariously forward, and there was a dim, hazy glowing coming from the right side of the shelf.
I blinked. Maybe it was the sunlight that poured in through the window creating some kind of optical illusion. Or maybe it was the lack of sleep that was making me loopy, but it almost seemed as if the bookshelf had come unattached from the wall and was floating in midair.
I moved closer to get a better look.
I stopped again, my breath hitching in my throat.
It had been an optical illusion after all. The bookshelf wasn’t floating or about to fall over.
It was a door.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I stood there staring, utterly gobsmacked at the door that shouldn’t exist.
What the hell? I reached out my hand.
The hinges creaked when I pushed the large, book-
covered panel even farther away from the wall to reveal a narrow passageway. I couldn’t see much—the only source of light was a small yellow lantern that hung from the ceiling—except for the fact that the walls were made of large gray stones. I stepped inside.
The narrow passageway was long and winding, with lanterns placed sporadically to light the way. The floor was nothing but dirt.
Where am I? The passageway looked like it belonged in an ancient castle in medieval England, not a conservative, two-story house in the middle of Nowhere, Georgia. Was it possible that I’d stepped through some magical portal, transporting me to another time and place entirely? I shook my head but kept inching along.
The passage began to widen, and after rounding the last curve, I found myself standing in a large, dome-shaped room with walls that were a strange mixture of polished metal and compacted dirt. A web of ropes hung from the ceiling, and there were wide hooks attached to the metal paneling of the walls that held a large collection of weaponry. My mouth dropped open as I took in the assortment of long and short swords, sabers, scimitars, rapiers, daggers, spiked maces, longbows with matching quivers of arrows, and other strange, yet dangerous-looking objects I couldn’t identify.