CHAPTER11
“Mom! It’s Felicity! I have to talk to you!”
“She’s probably knocked up,” Felicity heard her father say in the background.
“Grosssssss!” her brother yelled.
“Hello darling,” her mother said. “I thought you were going to call tomorrow for Christmas Eve.”
Tomorrow was Christmas Eve? Felicity couldn’t decide if time was going by more quickly than it should, or more slowly. She only knew it seemed random. “Mom…” Felicity sucked in her breath. “I think something’s wrong with me.”
As she’d feared, her mother took it the very worst way. “What is it, darling? Have you caught some terrible tropical disease? Oh, you aren’t…”
“I’m notpregnant, Mom,” Felicity said with a sigh. “Would you tell Dad toquitsaying that?”
“She’s not pregnant!” her mother announced to whoever was in the room. Given the chorus of cheers and disgusted groans, most of her brothers and cousins were there. They would be doing a last flurry of all the cooking that could be done ahead, wrapping presents and making and buying last-minute gifts.
Felicity rode a wave of homesickness. She loved this time of year. It was so hard to remember the holiday here. The twinkle lights helped, and the giant fake Christmas tree in the center of the plaza. But there was no snow or season, and no family asking leading questions to figure out what she might want as a gift.
She dragged her thoughts back to the problem at hand. “Mom, something is going on. Something about being a brownie.”
“Tell your mother everything,” she commanded. “Boys, you are too much for this house. Go outside and burn off some of your nervous energy by shoveling the driveway if you can’t behave. Cookies for anyone who helps! I’ll be watching through the window, so don’t you try to fool me! You too, Father Christmas!”
There was a flurry of shouts and commotion, and Felicity pictured the familiar tussle for coats and boots and scarves. Stomping was followed by a slam of the door.
“We’re alone now, darling. What’s been going on? Are you in trouble?”
“No,” Felicity said, then she amended the statement as she realized that it was entirely possible she would be fired over this. “I mean, a little, maybe. But I’m not sure if it’s really me. Things that I touch are...going spoiled. Before that, it was a tray of shrimp, and some wine, and today some lettuce. They had to throw out an entire freezer full of seafood and a case of wine!”
Her mother gave a hiss of dismay. “Abroken home!” she whispered in alarm. “Are they cruel to you? A bad master will never eat or sleep well again.”
“They aren’t bad masters,” Felicity was quick to assure her. “And they aren’t masters at all. Don’t be so archaic. Everyone here is an absolute peach. The owner is sort of terrifying, but always fair. Chef roars sometimes, but only when something needs done right away and it’s noisy. Breck is a hoot—I swear, I laugh all day long. I have a best friend, Theodora, and you’d love her, Mom. She’s so sweet, and I talk enough for both of us. The job is great, the hours are easy, the whole place is utterly gorgeous. I’m learning Spanish and Italian. I’ve never been so happy or fit in so well.” She chose not to mention her unhealthy obsession with Robert. Could he be the problem? Maybe her silly crush was poisoning her better sense. Shehadbeen bringing him the wine that had turned and Theodora was nowhere around that case.
“Well, something is wrong,” her mother insisted. “Something is broken if this is happening. Look deeper, because when there is rot at the bottom, there is rot at the top. We know, darling. Brownies always protect their homes. Trust your instincts!”
“It would be helpful if my instincts came with instructions,” Felicity sighed. “I have no idea what is happening or how to fix it. Is the restaurant my home? The resort?”Robert?
“You fix it by finding and exposing the problem,” her mother said firmly. “It will only get worse until you do.”
CHAPTER12
The sea wrinkled away and lapped back, over and over against the shore. It was sunset, and the day seemed to repent for being so monotonously sunny by sending clouds of every color scuttling across the sky in woolly skeins.
Robert had two more days in Shifting Sands, and would fly home late on Boxing Day.
His deer was almost silent now, the way Robert himself had gone silent out of self preservation, to weather the lonely, agonizing days in captivity.
He could walk out into the ocean, he thought, and no one would stop him.
This time, his death would be real, and he wouldn’t have to come back from it and be the hollow, frozen person that he was now.
He didn’t want death, particularly. But he didn’t want anything, and death seemed like a particularly permanentnothing.
There was a brink, and he was poised to fall off of it. He’d forget how to feel, altogether, or he’d have to face all the pain he’d been denying.
She wasn’t his mate.
The ice in his heart flexed in protest.
