And he practically did.
I was left with the sudden revelation that I had not only seen a demon . . . I had a crush on one.
CHAPTER 10
I pulled into the driveway as my grandfather emerged from the small storage shed in the backyard, carrying a weathered cardboard box. He stopped and waited for me to join him.
“Knickknacks for your gran,” he explained. “She said it was safe to bring them out again.”
“Safe?”
He carefully ignored my question, set the box down, and removed a bronze, scalloped picture frame from it. It was a photo of a young boy with a pointed collar and shaggy haircut. I’d never seen the boy before, but I recognized him all the same. It was the boy I saw sitting in the church!
“He’s a little younger than you here, but I’d say you definitely take after him!” my grandfather enthused.
“Who?” I gulped, wanting my grandfather to confirm it.
“Your father, of course,” he answered.
My chest seized up. How could I possibly have seen my dad—or his ghost, or whatever that was—when I didn’t even know what he looked like at that age? I was almost used to the frightening, futuristic nightmares, but now I could somehow see into the past too? In broad daylight? What was wrong with me? I wondered if I was going crazy, or if maybe these were all signs of an early brain tumor or something . . .
My grandfather noticed my shock. “You’ve never seen a picture of your father at this age, have you?” I shook my head. “Well, it’s about time they went back up on the walls,” he declared.
“Why?” I sputtered.
“I suppose because we never sent any to your mother,” he said, answering only why I’d never seen a photo of my dad before and not why they were locked in a storage shed.
“So you did have a problem with my mom,” I challenged. My grandfather glanced away. I rested my hand on his wrist and softened my voice. “Please,” I said. “I need to know the truth.”
He looked over his shoulder at the house, as if seeking permission. “Yes,” he finally sighed. “Your gran . . . I mean we were not happy they married.”
“Why not?”
“It was very unfair of us, I suppose, but we were afraid . . .” He trailed off. “She recruited him, you know. We didn’t want him working for that place, and I guess we blamed her for convincing him. All those secrets, the danger . . .” He clucked his tongue.
I hadn’t wanted to believe Hunter about the Abbey, but my mother’s demon journal and now my grandfather’s admission suggested she was right. Why was I the only one who thought they just worked for a benign computer company? I was about to ask how much more he knew when I felt his hand over mine.
“It’s not time yet, Maren,” he said. “Your grandmother can’t cope with it all just yet. We’ll talk more soon, I promise, but give her time. These photos are a big step.”
I nodded, and he let go of me.
Back inside, I couldn’t wait to pore over my mother’s journals again. I was bounding upstairs when my grandmother stopped me.
“Maren?” she called out from the living room. “Is that you?”
I hesitated on the fifth step. “Yes,” I tried not to sound exasperated. And failed.
“You’ve got a guest.”
I turned and shuffled down toward the front room, knowing that Jo or anyone my age would be in the kitchen, and dreading the old person I knew would be sitting in there. Probably a friend of my grandma’s, excited to meet me. I didn’t feel like playing show-and-tell in front of a stranger for the next hour. I would say hi like a good girl, then beg off to do homework or something.
When I entered the sitting room, I felt as if I’d walked into a brick wall. Gavin was sitting on the couch, grinning at me like we were best friends.
It was almost funny, his muscular body on the peach-colored couch, his rough hands holding a dainty cup of tea. He was wearing his hunting kilt again, and if it was possible, he was even more gorgeous. His eyes danced at my obvious surprise; his smile filled the whole room with light. My grandmother was taken with him as well.
“Look, dear, it’s Gavin,” she gushed. “Your Gaelic tutor from Kingussie. Isn’t it kind of him to stop by on a Saturday?”
I raised my eyebrows at him. Tutor, huh?
My grandmother stood up. “I’ll leave you two alone.”
I couldn’t wait to grill him, but not anywhere in the house, where my grandparents could hear us.
“We’re actually going to go outside,” I stated, carefully not asking permission. “I really need to learn the names of . . . the trees and stuff.”
Gavin stood up, locked eyes with me. “I was just going to suggest that,” he agreed.
“Alrighty, then.” My grandmother shooed us out the front door. “Have a nice time.” She was as giddy as if she’d played matchmaker. I marveled that Gavin even had an effect on old ladies.
We scuffed along the loose gravel driveway, clouds of dirt hovering about our ankles. As soon as we were out of earshot, Gavin spun around, his face completely changed. It was sour and dark.
“I hope you’re happy now,” he scowled. “You got your wish. I’m stuck with you.”
I was as offended as I could be at his beautiful face. Why was it so hard to be mad at him? Good looks shouldn’t get him off the hook for being rude and nasty. Why did I like him? It couldn’t just be because he was hot. There was something more. Something magnetic that drew me to him, told me that I was supposed to be with him, that my life wouldn’t be the same without him.
I was starting to wish it would wear off.
“Me? This is my house. You’re stalking me now, not the other way around,” I reminded him.
“I was serious when I told you at the post office to stay away from me, but you couldn’t do it, could you?” he practically snarled.
“What? You mean this morning? That was a total coincide . . .” I trailed off, remembering Hunter’s view about coincidences. And I had convinced myself while talking to Jo that I’d only dreamed being in the woods.
“Yes, this morning,” he confirmed. “What were you doing out there?”
So I hadn’t imagined it. It was real! “I was just . . . on my way . . . to the library,” I stuttered.
“There’s no library in the forest,” he said sarcastically. He turned and stomped across the lane. Like an idiot, I followed.
“A tree fell near my car, and I didn’t know what to do,” I explained. “And you ran past, and I thought . . .”
“You thought what? That I’d rescue you? That’s not my job.” His eyes were cold, taunting.
A hot wave of anger flushed through my body. Attraction or not, no one was going to talk to me like that. I was done trying to be nice to him. “Yeah, I know, apparently your job is killing innocent people,” I spat out.
“What?” He had the nerve to look offended.
“I saw you,” I said. “You killed that old guy in the woods. Bertie.”
“You think I killed him?” he asked incredulously.