The next day I finally decided it was time to do some serious investigating about the story behind my mother, especially after seeing and reading what Marsi had added about me in her book, or what had seemed to be about me.

My name at the end of all that gruesome imagery had to have something to do with all of it, even if she was strange and drew such pictures about everyone. She had to have known something. There had to be an explanation for what had happened to the women in my family, and I was sure the rest of the day and night would have involved reliving every second of my first and maybe last conversation with Cray if I didn't do something proactive. I would be anticipating his reappearance, hoping for us to talk again, even if he was being rude and unfair. Maybe it was because something told me he was doing it on purpose, that he wanted me to hate him. Either that or I was turning into one of those weak and needy girls I had no respect for. If so, I had to get a hold of myself.

Milton drove me into Old Town at around two o'clock, and I asked him to pick me up in a few hours. Zella had offered to come with me, but I wanted to shop alone. I wanted to see Elandra; someone who could help me figure out what the deal was with the story, someone with an otherworldly sense that burned incense and danced around trees and imagined they could talk back. I needed someone as kooky as Jess to make me feel less...kooky. It felt like I was being directed to do all this alone, which made me a lot more sure footed.

"You've come to the right place, Crystal," Elandra said after she told me she'd been expecting me. I found myself telling her everything that had been happening as she led me to the beaded doorway behind the counter. I had no idea psychics were this in tune with a stranger, and I couldn't have questioned it if I tried. Maybe she was casting a spell to make me comply.

She told me to sit down on a brown leather couch then offered to make me a cup of iced tea. It didn't seem like a room to take customers, but I was too relaxed and comforted to question it.

"You need more answers, and fast," she said when she returned with two full glasses. "You're having visions." It wasn't a question, and with her knowing what I was thinking before I'd even said it, still made me wonder how it was possible.

How did she really know? Did she hear my thoughts? Did she know what I dreamed? What I wished? Had she known I was coming?

I was freaked out and impressed.

"Do you have any idea what they could mean?"

"Explain what you see." She placed the cups on the small coffee table and sat beside me.

I described my dream, what Jess and Isobel had said.

Elandra didn't say anything for a moment, then held up a finger and got up to grab a book from one of her cluttered shelves. She brought it to me.

"This once belonged to my great aunt. It's been passed down in my family for generations. Mediumship runs through our family. I think it could be relevant to you, your predicament."

The book was large and brown with creased blue stains. Most of the pages were torn and too brittle. Elandra showed me a page describing the history of sorcery and their association with Fallion creatures known to humans as Fae. How they once co-existed with witches, and that there was a divine portal separating the Earth plane to theirs.

"Um...what does this have to do with me?" I tried to get my head around the theory of

invisible realms and creatures. Like always, I had to see it to be convinced, even now, after all these coincidences.

"I'm not sure," she said. "But I think you have a connection, a power that they need. You see, legend has it that there was once an enemy." Elandra's eyes lit up, but somehow not in a good way.

She looked troubled; her eyes were a watery stain.

"This enemy tried to overtake the Fallion's leaders, and conspired to have them killed with a spell from their sacred Lebrus stone. It's always been a secretive spell, known only to certain Fallions of Shimmarian."

Fallion? Shimmarian? Lebrus stone? I was wary of listening to her, but also fascinated.

"The enemy became greedy and selfish," Elandra went on, "desiring more than to just live among the Fallions. Instead, they desired complete rulership. Somehow, the Lebrus stone was found along with the Fallion's secrets. When they learned somebody was conspiring to outdo them, that person was cast out of Shimmarian along with the rest of their followers. They were unable to step foot back into their realm. But... the enemy had managed to take the stone, something that would help them to re-enter Shimmarian. It's something Fallions are still fighting to regain."

"I-"

"I think that's where you come in. You're even named after that very stone. Crystal. It all makes perfect sense."

"You really think so?"

She nodded. "Do you have any markings?" She scanned me. "Unusual birthmarks?"

My breath caught at the mention of birthmarks. My chest began to feel as though something was sprouting from it. I was relieved to see nothing was. Elandra noticed me clenching the neck of my shirt.

"Is there a mark on your chest, Crystal?"

"Huh?"

"There." She pointed. "Can I see it?" Her eyes shone with excitement.

I gulped, removing my hand.

Elandra eased away the top of my shirt. I didn't dare to look at her face as she did. I felt like a monster already, even if what she said was all over the top. I always hated my birthmark, and now it was giving me another reason to despise it.

"It's remarkable," Elandra whispered. "So precise in shape. Look." I didn't. "Every line is extremely symmetrical and indented, seeming carved into you."

I snapped my shirt closed. "It sounds...I don't know, this all sounds...interesting, but...loopy."

She smiled sympathetically. "Maybe, and yes, I had been doubtful, too, for a long time. But my great aunt believed in the story, and as fellow sorcerers, we have to continue the legacy of our ancestors and their wish to help protect the Fallions. It's my duty to help you. This is the true nature of our beliefs as white witches. It's this kind of evil that has given us the reputation we didn't deserve. Since then our craft has been misjudged, corrupted from the indecent act of one individual from long ago. This is the effect of a devious spirit. They can leave a trail of irreversible dishonor. The Fallions' enemy was despised not only by them but by certain members of their coven. It's believed that person was burned at the stake by their own previous followers."

"I don't see how this has anything to do with me, Elandra, bodily mark or not. I mean

why would it? We don't even know if this actually happened." I tried to keep my frustration in check. "But still, I...appreciate you wanting to help."

"But you've seen Fallions in your dreams as a child," she said with smile. "You've experienced their touch. They're described in this book the way you have seen them."

Again I was surprised, but impressed by how she knew all this. I had almost forgotten about those dreams.

Elandra excitedly showed me pictures of petite, elegant figures, dancing and holding hands around a circle.

"I only dreamed of them a few times," I insisted. "And...well, they're kind of the same," I muttered. "What are they dancing around?"

"It's called The Cusp," she said, thrilled to explain. "It's a surrounding of Charlocks. It's innocently branded. Yet within it lies something more powerful. You can still find them in most urban forests, and it's the only doorway to the Fallion's world so that they can also visit ours. Even today, followers of witchcraft gather around it to try and re-connect with them, worshipping for forgiveness, with a hope to cross through again."

I closed the book and handed it back to Elandra. I didn't know what to say or how to react to something so unbelievable, so settled on making small talk, something I was getting good at to cover up how I was really feeling. I hoped.

"How did this book get into your family? It seems like a million years old," I said.

"It's old, but not that old." She laughed. "It's also not as old as something else I possess. A diary. I'm related to one of the women who belonged to the coven the enemy had led. Her name was Elsbeth. She was involved before their ways turned dark. She left to form her own coven. The diary is very faded, though, it isn't even readable."

"And what about this enemy. Do you know who it is? Were they male or female?"

Elandra shook her head. "I don't know." She just looked at me as if I might realize the answer.

"I'm even more confused. What you've told me still doesn't seem to coincide with my life and the world as I see it."

She didn't respond, just stared at me, hopeful.

"But, I appreciate you trying to help clarify what's been happening to me, Elandra. I really do. Thanks." I looked at my watch to give me a reason to leave. The conversation had left me even more confused; shaken, though I tried not to show it. To do that meant I might have to let it sink in and definitely believe in it. Besides, I still wasn't sure what else to say.

Elandra grabbed my hand. "I understand, but you have to believe and trust there is truth to what Jess and Isobel told you; the Fallions hold the key. If you don't mind, I would like you to keep me informed of any new developments. I'm here for you if you need any more help." Her smile was slanted and quivery, desperate for me to say yes.

"I would like that. Thanks again." I mustered a smile.

She escorted me to the front door, placing her hands on my shoulders with one last comment. "Remember, you have the light to clear their darkness, I truly believe that, Crystal. I truly believe you are the one to save your kind." With a kiss on the back of my head, she let go of me with a wave.

My kind?

Was she claiming I was one of the Fallions somehow? A Fae?

My mind became embroiled with images of super beings from another world and witchcraft. The story whirled around in my head, coming to no final conclusion, just sifting its

way in and out of my conscience like a nagging ache.

I asked a passerby to direct me to the nearest library. I needed to read up on some local history, find out more from factual sources not the mystical.

I entered a prehistoric building that was so small it looked more like a rest room than a public library. I headed to the not so busy counter where a lady with cropped silver gray hair, peered at me over the glasses like I was rare bacterium.

"What can I do for you?" Her tone was snobbish and with a hint of, "I don't recognize you," as she turned her nose up at me.

"I want to how I can find out more on my family history, please."

"History and local heritage is on the fifth aisle along my left." She pointed with a pen, and then continued writing something more important than new clientele, like a will.

After thanking her and being ignored, I made my way down to the fifth aisle. There were so many books and files I didn't know where to begin. I wasn't sure what was numerical or chronological with a last name and county.

There were only two throwback computers. I had to wait for the three people before me to finish so I could go on the Internet. When it came my turn, I had to dial up a connection, which took up most of my allotted time. It finally connected, but I had nothing much to go by.

I could have been spelling names wrong. Maybe I didn't have a clue what I was doing and needed help. But from whom? The old lady at the desk didn't seem a likely candidate.

Again, I realized I was going to have to find out the truth my way, in my time, even if that meant weeks.

This really wasn't how I wanted to spend my time here. But Jess and Isobel were convinced the tale about my heritage was true, and Elandra knew I was coming, perhaps before I did. I was a skeptic as usual, even now, but I had to give in and explore this.

I had no real choice.

~ * ~

"Cray is waiting for you outside, Crystal. Please do not make him wait," Isobel said when she called me into the study the next afternoon.

Before I could ask why, Syd was guiding me to the front door. It was open, and through the crack I could see Cray pacing the driveway.

"Syd, what are you doing?" Her head was turned away from me. A floppy hat covered her face.

"Taking you to Cray." She pulled me along, but I dragged my feet.

"But I don't want to go to him"

"Oh, but you have to."

"Why?"

"Isobel says so." She wouldn't look at me. Not even when I tripped.

We reached the door. I stopped her hand from opening it any wider to make me visible.

"Why has he agreed to this?" I whispered.

Syd lifted her floppy hat a little, all the while keeping her eyes from directly looking at me.

"I guess he wants to get to know you better."

"Know me?"

Something didn't sound right about the reason, not after our last conversation. He would

have wanted to avoid me, like I him. He was being forced. He had to be. I didn't want to spend my day with someone who felt they had better things to do with their limited precious time. Besides, I was still embarrassed about my irrational behavior outside the house that night with him. I wasn't even in the mood for going out. Not with Cray or the likes of Orlando Bloom.

"Yes, why wouldn't he?" She adjusted her hat, smiling impishly beneath it.

"Because he hates me."

She chuckled. "I doubt that"

"He does. He despises me like I despise...guacamole."

She smiled, but not enough to disagree with me.

"I'm not going anywhere with him. I'm, I'm not feeling up to it."

She frowned. "I can see why," She sounded vaguely upset and apprehensive.

"You do?"

I was hoping she hadn't overheard Cray and me that night. I guess half the population must have since I was so loud.

"Yes you must be..." Her eyes wandered then came back to meet mine. "Overwhelmed..."

Her eyes held mine with an unspoken sympathy. I didn't want it. Not from Syd. She wasn't supposed to sense how messed up I really was compared to these people she related to as family. I didn't want to be a disappointment. Yet I knew I would be. In her eyes, I had wanted to be wholesome, complete, worthy of a mother's love that she gave to me.

"Isobel wouldn't make demands that weren't justifiable." Her head bowed to signify her lack of repose to the situation.

I didn't want to bring her trouble, but this was an order I couldn't listen to. It was too...risky, unpredictable. My head and my heart didn't feel ready for the bumpy long ride that would take place in his costly Jag.

"Still, you should go." She flung the door open and pushed me gently, but fixedly outside.

Cray saw me before I could run back inside. Syd had vanished just as fast as she had appeared, leaving me exposed and crawling within myself.

He threw his cigarette to the side and climbed the stairs. My heart thumped in my abdomen. I felt winded, but strangely in a good way.

What if he really did want to spend time with me?

The thought made me swoon. This could be it, his charm factor coming into play, a play for me and my attention, even though he had it from the very beginning. I had always been there, on the front line, waiting since the day I met him, since I caught sight of his masculine, unblemished beauty.

If only I didn't feel so embarrassed by my behavior. If only we'd met under different circumstances. Then maybe, just maybe I wouldn't seem so high maintenance and like someone who needed to be under arrest.

"Are you ready or not?" He groaned. "I haven't got all day."

My wild and ignorant fantasies of being swept off my feet dissipated.

I didn't respond. I tried to look clueless, which wasn't far from the truth. I should have ran when I had the chance.

He made his way up the stairs while I apprehended the moment he would reach the eye level epitome of my inner seizures, and stopped at a reasonable distance. He didn't say a word after that, just surveyed me in a kind of Detective Columbo, one-eyed investigation mode.

"I can't come with you, to wherever you were going, before you were...going without me." I sounded so dumb I wanted to purge myself.

The look he gave me didn't emote that he was saddened by the news, or even that he was listening. Yet it was somewhere between perplexed and frustrated, to a certain extent, vexed with a lurid outrage, though he shadowed over the emotions well for a guy who seemed to have no empathy for human beings.

"That so?" he asked, lighting another cigarette.

"Yes. I'm feeling unwell. I might just head back to my room."

"It might do some good," he said blandly, not hastening to add why and to whom.

"I doubt it."

He blew a mass of smoke into my face. I coughed and spluttered, waving of my hands.

"Has no one ever taught you manners?" I asked, losing my patience.

There was a tenuous grin on his face. If I hadn't have been monitoring him so closely, it would have happened without my knowing.

He didn't reply or apologize, and I didn't expect him to have that kind of decency.

"Fine, suit yourself." I said. "I'm going inside."

"Not so fast." He blew out more smoke, away from me this time. "I'm to take you out some place, so that's what I intend to do." He searched his pockets.

"And do you always do what you're told? I thought my kind weren't worth your time."

He frowned and swore at his cigarette that had fallen to the ground. After crushing it with the heel of his shoe, he looked up at me like I was keeping him held hostage and my explanation was the only ransom.

"As I'm told?" he repeated, seeming fazed by my apparent misinformation.

"By Isobel." I folded my arms and shook my head at the audacity of such a conceited jerk. He was going to pretend it was his own egotistical idea. Maybe even throw in a bouquet of artificial flowers.

"Maybe I've decided I want to take you," he said.

It could have been in my misled mind, a romantic response. That's if he hadn't appeared to be seething with physical pain to say it. And it shouldn't have hurt as much as it did to know that he cringed at the thought of wanting to be alone with me. I shouldn't have cared one bit.

"Maybe I don't want to go anywhere with you. Have you ever thought about that?" My reply was a little over sensitive and over the mark of letting him know how much I wanted to bury him with my fists.

Judging by his thwarted expression, the question before now had never crossed his audacious mind. Probably because he knew better than to believe I was unaffected by him, susceptible to falling head over heels in lust for a guy who probably lapped the attention from a legion of admirers. I wasn't proud to be becoming one of them.

He looked away for what seemed like a long time. My gut clenched with a combustible anger.

"Fine," he said.

A breeze blew back his open striped shirt. The sun shining over the high rooftop, created slight purple and red streaks through his rich black hair as he tipped his head toward the stairs.

When he lifted it to look at me, his eyes held nothing. No unusual colors. They became weightless, unclosed, yet still imprisoning me in their curiosity that deepened with each second he watched me, examined, contemplating his next move or perhaps mine.

My heart ceased to beat during that moment, and I could actually see him for once,

recognizably familiar, present like a revenant of the past, an apparition of a forgotten realm I was returning to, where it was bringing me closer to a place I never found previously intact.

"I'll come with you." The words rushed out of my mouth. Though, for some reason, I didn't regret it.

A darkness cast over his eyes as he listened to me project my feelings in terms of friendship and potential companionship. I also didn't fail to describe a platonic relationship in a way that didn't make me sound over optimistic about it changing to something more.

By the time I'd finished, he looked adrift. His brooding eyes lost focus and he winced.

"Have you finished?" was his irksome reply

"Yes. Shall we go?"

"Go where?" He suddenly looked all the more agitated.

"Out somewhere, like you suggested." I smiled coyly, which he dismissed as something I regularly accomplished.

"A moment ago you didn't want to go," he ground out.

"I've changed my mind," I said, enjoying the way it aggravated him to have to agree with me. I could learn more along the way.

"I don't want to force you," he replied, attempting to sound considerate. But it was chivalry that was going to need a lot of practice.

"You're not."

He reflected, probably routing for another excuse. "Great," he finally muttered, turning to descend the stairs.

I ignored the mock condescending remark and followed him with my new uplifted mood.

He was right in one way. It could be good for me.

~ * ~

"Fasten your seatbelt," Cray said once we were in his car. The passenger door wasn't opened for me. Even his care for my safety was more like a fire drill.

He switched on the radio and listened to something that could burst eardrums. Since Isobel had insisted he take me out somewhere, and since there was no way to speak during such an invasion to peace, I relaxed and pressed down my window to breathe in the fresh scent of the late spring afternoon air.

I needed a day out to take my mind off all the bizarre conversation with Elandra, even if it meant a day with the unresponsive, and at times rude, Cray.

I mean, what the hell was I supposed to do about what she declared? Mention it to Isobel? She would definitely think I was on drugs. This day out had to help me figure it out, at least help me figure out one puzzle frequently on my mind: the guy driving like he was sleeping with his eyes half closed. And considering he made it clear he wanted nothing to do with me at our last conversation, I wondered why he was willing to take me somewhere just because Isobel might have insisted. But I figured I should just go along with it. I needed this, no matter who my companion was.

As usual, the streets were empty and the lanes were scarce of traffic. Blacksville probably never had to envisage jams or congestion during the peak time of day.

The volume of heavy guitars was decreased to listenable.

It was a pity it didn't last more than fifteen seconds.

I purposely studied Cray's face to see what I was up against in what could be the next three to four hours, if I was to be that lucky, or perhaps unlucky if my company was to be noted for his arrogance. Especially if the person happened to be me, a step-down from the people he actually liked to be around.

His mood swings were so frequent it was important to keep a close check. I needed to make sure they hadn't alternated into a frenzied attack on the steering wheel. Especially since the speed he drove in lacked what I would call passable for a driving license.

The last time I skimmed a driving manual, I was pretty sure motor vehicles weren't legally driven with one hand. Yet, Cray only applied one very loose grip, on occasion even his fingers to maneuver, turn, dip and bend onto every road.

"You need to quit driving so recklessly," I told him, feeling concern for the lives of others, however minimally they scattered.

He turned up the radio. I bravely turned it down, then tugged on my seatbelt, making sure it was clicked into place.

He did a one-hand swerve onto a ruddy dirt path. The car bumped over a few humps and swiveled onto short cut grass where acres of it surrounded us, then skidded to a stop somewhere in the middle. Cray quickly reversed and pulled the brakes, sending me jolting forward. I didn't bother waiting for an apology. I didn't get the chance.

He stepped out of the car and leaned back on the door to light up a cigarette. A chimney pipe smoked less.

But that was an unfair comparison, since chimneys didn't act so annoying.

At least the music had stopped. The improvement was prolific. But it was so unearthly quiet, I had to tap my foot. It was a lot like a clock ticking, except not much time had elapsed from when I started. My butt began to ache from the wait.

Cray puffed out smoke as if there was no tomorrow and he was here alone in the wilderness, gathering up his thoughts.

I bit my lip and contemplated getting out of the car, too. But then he straightened and checked his tires, tapping them with the tip of his shoe while inhaling from the stub of his cigarette. By then, my patience at being ignored had grown thinner than a sucked Popsicle.

I stepped out of the car and my foot landed in something squidgy. I tried not to care, but my foot kept sticking to the ground as I made my way to the trunk. Cray's head was inside. He emerged with a picnic basket covered with a yellow cotton flannel.

"Take this?" he muttered, the stub of his cigarette still pressed between his lips.

He wasn't looking at me, and there was no please attached. But I wasn't expecting miracles, so I took it like a kitten being tempted by a sky rocket.

"Are we seriously going to have a picnic?" I asked, noting how well put together and filled the basket was. Guiltily I corrected what might have been a mistake about his intentions.

"I mean, it's fine and all, even kind of you to have gone to so much trouble, and..." I took a peek in the basket. Blueberry muffins. Impressive.

The trunk slammed shut, shaking the bumper and maybe deflating the back wheels. I almost dropped the basket.

Cray stomped around to his car door. At first, I thought he was going to get in and drive away without me. It made me break out into a sweat. But he just bleeped on his alarm and walked north from where I was standing. Dumbstruck.

Was I supposed to follow him? I didn't understand and doubted anyone would have in my predicament.

What a jackass.

My stomach growled and begged to be overfed with the sugary treats so in my reach. If the load in my arms hadn't been a struggle to carry, the scents would have been pure bliss.

We walked along an open field and down two slopes to a bridge and more open fields. After that it was time for me to have a break. I dropped the basket with the loudest thump I could muster on the softest ground, entirely for his benefit, then took my sandals off to inspect the blisters on my feet.

"What are you doing?" He came over to me quickly, considering he had been meters away.

"Painting my toes."

"What?" He sounded horrified. I needed to work on my sarcasm with him.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" I rubbed my swelling little toes and blew on them.

Cray didn't respond. The sun was behind his head, concealing any facial expression. I imagined he was grimacing at my stubby toes.

"Wear the correct footwear and you wouldn't have a problem," he grumbled.

I was right. He was grimacing at my feet. I saw it when he stepped away.

He crouched beside the basket where I could see him properly. His cheeks were slightly pink and his hair around his neck was damp and sticking to his collar. He took off his shirt, leaving himself in just a white tee. He opened up the picnic basket and brandished two glasses and a bottle of white wine.

I didn't have the nerve to tell him I could have done with a can of Sprite.

"Why have you brought us here?" I asked. "Couldn't we have just had a picnic in the woods near the house?"

He was pouring two glasses of white wine. For the first time I was being encouraged with underage drinking, and openly. Maybe he did it often. Nobody could probably tell we were underage, anyway. "This isn't just any woods," he said.

"Oh."

He handed me my glass of wine.

"It's Sky Meadows," he added. "It has one point one three two acres of land." He sipped on his wine.

I tried not to get too excited at how he was making conversation with me.

He sat with his legs crossed, balancing his arm on his knee while holding his glass from the rim.

"Besides." He wiped his moist forehead with the back of his wrist. "Today is the Delaphane Strawberry Festival."

"That's not until a few weeks," I said, trying to sound educated.

He looked at me like I had dough on my face. "You're thinking of the Apple Blossom Festival."

"Oh. right. Well I didn't realize you were such a fruit lover."

"I'm not." He sounded deeply offended, like a vegan accused of being an anorexic. "It's Memorial weekend."

I nodded. "In memory of what?"

He frowned as though I had double dough on my face. "In memory of the 11,600 soldiers who died to keep this country free."

I swallowed my wine loudly, but otherwise I remained silent, appreciating how he hadn't sounded scolding, only mildly dismissive.

He finished his wine and scooped out a blanket from inside the basket and opened it out onto the grass to place plates of fruit, cakes, and homemade sandwiches on top. He could be quite hospitable when he wanted to be.

"Thanks," I said, moving to sit on the blanket as he pushed my plate toward me.

I bit into my muffin, trying not to touch it with my fingers. A few parents and their children were making their way through a gated entrance to what must have been the Strawberry Festival. They didn't seem to understand why we were having a picnic smack bang in the middle the field.

"Aren't you hungry?" Cray asked, startling me.

His plate was almost empty. He'd filled his glass again. His ochre eyes peered at me over the rim as he took a sip.

I spread my fingers. "I don't like rubbing my hands on my feet and then eating with them."

He dipped his hand in the basket and threw me a packet of wet wipes.

I muttered thanks and then we ate in silence.

"Why are you here?" he asked eventually. The question seemed to fall from the sky.

"Excuse me?"

"Why did you come here? To Blacksville?" If I hadn't known any better, I would have detected that same treble in his voice.

"I was invited."

"It doesn't mean you had to accept." The sun was shining behind him, concealing his face.

"I know." I shrugged. "I was curious."

"Do you know what happens to people curious?" he asked, a little too playfully for my liking.

"No. Why don't you enlighten me?" my voice squeaked.

"Another time." Now that the sun was shining behind him again, I couldn't see his face, but I sensed he was smiling.

"No. I want to hear your theory on my choices," I said, suddenly finding my confident voice. "You seem so, I don't know, bare-faced smug about it. I don't think someone should say something if they can't back it up with the courage to say what they mean."

The sun moved to his left, revealing his face. To the world he wasn't smiling, to me, it was clearly visible in his expression.

"Good comeback. It's a shame I have to disagree with you."

"Everyone's entitled to their opinion."

His smiled, properly, but bit his lips to suppress it. "And their mistakes?" he asked, his eyes holding mine a fraction longer than usual, all golden and simmering with what looked like red disappearing into his pupils.

I forced my lips to part. I had to quit imagining these things about him. "Is that a question or a remark?"

"Both." He held my gaze as I thought about it. It did weird things to my stomach.

"Then, yes, they are."

"They are, or they will be entitled to it?"

I was forgetting the question, and losing my mental grip. He didn't want me in the way that I unwisely hoped. He didn't really see me. I would have been an idiot to think it.

I tore my gaze away from his, afraid I was giving away too much. "Both."

He nodded "Then I wish you luck, Crystal."

It was the first time I'd heard him say my name. It seemed as though it had struck his tongue at first. But I liked how it sounded on his lips in the end. My name had never been said with such humility and deep-rooted meaning, no matter how brandished with fear.

But had I imagined it? Was I hearing what I wanted?

I glanced at him and noticed he was still watching me. My heart thrummed like a harp.

"Cray." Saying his name out loud was like breaking a spell, a wall that had bridged a gap between us. I could hear him inhale a ragged breath. I wondered if I should continue. "Is it me or have we met...before?"

"Why?" His voice was uneven. "Do you recognize me?"

"No. I just, I mean. I feel like I do. Only I don't remember how. And I doubt I would forget someone like you." I bit my lip. I had definitely said too much.

This time, his eyes glazed pure white, until he had no pupils, only the iris.

I tried to speak from the initial shock of seeing them change so drastically. They began to glow then transpire into invertible colors. I had to be imagining it. I looked away and got to my feet, suppressing the need to panic.

"What's wrong?"

He sounded concerned. I brushed it away as being in my imagination, too. I felt as well as heard him stand behind me. "What are you hiding?" he asked all too delicately for someone usually so guarded.

I made myself turn. His eyes were turning black, then a honeycomb brown. I closed my eyes; a soothing breeze blew my hair across my face. When I opened my eyes again, Cray was kneeling on the blanket, collecting the plates of food.

"We need to get back," he muttered, throwing everything into the basket.

"What about the festival?"

"There'll be more."

"But I won't be here."

He paused. "Where else will you be?"

I didn't answer right away. I wanted to memorize the moment he seemed so apprehensive to ask me that question. However wrong it was to hope of the likelihood of it meaning more. However wrong it was to want someone who had tried to harm in my dreams.

"I'll be home, with people who really care about me."

I didn't know why I said the last part, until his face seemed to have shattered in two, corroding into a look of incompleteness.

I realized it was the response I wanted, but not attached to so much hidden beyond his lips.

His eyes became the clearest blue, like the tears that had washed me during my death in my dream my first night at the manor. And something told me he knew about the dream, that he experienced something similar.

"Do you believe in magic?" he asked. I turned. Thankfully, his gaze was on the ground.

"No," I said, finding the question odd.

"In fate then?"

"Not really."

He lifted his eyes to mine and stole my breath with the sadness I found in them.

"Do you believe in anything...like that?" he asked, his voice sounding like a plea for me to understand.

"I...I only..." My voice trailed off as he stepped closer.

When I forced myself to look at him, he lowered his gaze to my chest, at my birthmark peeking over the neckline of my top. I hid it with my hand.

He cleared his throat and I think he blushed. Cray Locke was blushing. Because of me?

"Forget it." He was about to turn, but I blurted, "Wait!"

He paused and his shoulders tensed. I think he was just as surprised and afraid of what I was about to do.

I wanted to talk. I needed someone, anyone, and he had been the person to see to it. Isobel told him to, but he was here all the same. He didn't have to listen to her.

"If I've done something wrong you have to tell me," I said.

He turned and walked over to me slowly, keeping his eyes locked on mine, hypnotizing me with their depth. My heart stopped then hammered against my ribs. He stopped so close to my face, I could taste his cologne, the nicotine imbedded in his shirt. He was all the more handsome up close and in broad daylight. His skin was flawless, slightly aglow, even dewy. The cupid's bow of his full lips had a sensual shape. They were undeniably kissable. I swallowed hard and he heard me. His frown deepened.

"Am I supposed to make an effort to talk to you?" he began in that deep husky tone of his that seemed to vibrate in my chest. "Am I supposed to think of you as important because you're my father's great niece?"

I shook my head. My tongue lay flat in my mouth, making it hard to respond. I shook my head.

"Then what are you expecting from me?"

Right now I expected him to scowl, but his expression turned intrigued.

Forcing myself to look away, it hit me how rude he was being. How I shouldn't be standing for it.

"Nothing," I rasped. "What makes you think I want to talk to you?"

He blinked a few times, like dirt had flown into in his eye. Maybe it had. Or maybe no one had ever stood up to him. The thought made me feel proud of myself.

"I can just imagine what kind of girls you hang out with," I said without thinking.

His eyes narrowed, all the more intrigued.

"I'm no cheerleader type, but I probably have more between my ears."

Oh no. What was I saying?

I caught him smirk before frowning. He inhaled deeply; his mouth had been tense the whole time.

"Do you imagine who I hang out with often?" He cocked a brow.

"Pfft...as if."

He smirked for a moment again. I couldn't help but like it, I couldn't help but notice how much more handsome he looked when he allowed another emotion other than disgruntled to take over his face.

We stared at one another after that. It was discomforting, but only because he was looking so intently into my eyes. It had me wondering what he was thinking, what he could see, what made him so interested to stare for so long. My pulse raced. I grew hot. Everything swirled around me. I think I was going to faint.

His face reddened. I told myself it wasn't for the same reason as mine was. But a naive, confident side was screaming in my head that it could be.

Before I knew it, his thumb was smoothing across my lips. A gasp escaped me before I

could stop it. He leaned in closer, perhaps taking that as a signal, awakening me with his masculine, fresh scent.

Were we about to kiss?

I became woozy at the thought, as though intoxicated. I guess I was, by his spicy cologne, his natural sweet scent and his nicotine laced breath. And when his mouth pressed to mine, it felt as unreal as I imagined: warm, moist, and with lips easily pliable between my teeth. His tongue teased mine as my eyes rolled back and I moaned; a light-headedness had me leaning into him, needing the support, to be held, touched, wanted, and most of all, desired.

His hands weaved into my hair and his heart thudded wildly against mine, our breaths became labored as our arms coiled around each other, hungrily, possessively.

But then he let go and pushed me away. I stumbled and almost fell on my butt.

His hand was out in front of him, but I realized it was just a way to keep me away, not bring me back.

He was breathing heavily. "I can't," he said. "I can't do this."

~ * ~

The ride home was excruciatingly awkward.

I couldn't forget the kiss, no matter what Cray had said afterwards. It was beyond what I could have ever expected, and it only made him all the more fascinating. It only made me want him more.

But he wouldn't even look at me. He wouldn't say a word.

I had climbed into the back seat of the car, thinking it was the wisest choice, then rolled down my window to watch the dawn of a closing night to stop myself from replaying the kiss, to stop feeling on edge and uncomfortable.

The night was cooler and uncomplicated. It allowed me to breathe in the crisp air with ease, rather than feel like it was being forced down my throat. The roads were a lot more jam-packed than they had been on the way here, which gave me a lot to concentrate on. Drivers lacked in patience just like the rest of the world that suffered bad traffic on a regular basis.

Moments later, Reverend Sinclair was waving at me from the car beside ours. In a blue, rusted Corvette convertible. I couldn't imagine him driving it with the roof down.

"Enjoy the festival?" he asked, his hair all disheveled.

"Great, thanks." I lied. Enjoying would have meant Cray and I had attended.

The Minister gave me another wave, and then drove farther down the road. Cray turned to look at whom I'd been talking to, only to frown at the back of the Minister's head that was sticking out the side of his window so he could wave at a group of cheering old ladies.

Cray mumbled something under his breath, revved his engine and crossed a set of traffic lights.

Once we left the freeway, the roads and streets through Winchester town and Charlottesville became bereft of people and sounds. It was as if life had been sucked into a great big hole until sunrise, allowing everything and everyone to escape until the next morning before returning to hibernate.

I could have been exaggerating. But compared to home, it felt true to my description.

The car screeched around a bend, picking up speed down a dusty road toward the open gates to the manor. I imagined Cray would have blustered right through if they'd been closed.

He slammed his foot down and I jolted back, holding onto the leather seat to keep from

sliding around. Another high resuming screech brought us to a standstill. I quickly unbuckled my seatbelt and pushed my door open without waiting to see if he had considered opening it for me.

Leaving Cray to have a discussion on his cell phone that had erupted into an argument, I ran up the stone steps to the manor, I had tried to listen to what was being said, but not a single word was audible.

Milton answered the door. Dark rings had surfaced around his eyes. I was about to ask him if he was alright, but he interrupted me.

"Enjoy your day?" he asked, closing the door on the outside discussion taking place. Call me big headed, but I had a feeling it was about me.

"Yep."

Milton chuckled at my lack of enthusiasm, but stopped to listen for something.

"Are you okay?" I asked him.

He didn't seem to hear me.

"Milton?"

He flinched. "Oh, I just thought I heard Isobel calling. Must be my age."

"Has she got you working overtime?"

"Something like that."

"Where's Syd?"

He became distracted again. "She's having an early night. That's why I decided to stay longer than usual."

"Is she not well?"

"No, no." He sucked in a deep breath. "Just missing her children, I think."

"Can I see her?"

"Best leave it till morning." He patted my shoulders. "I'm sure she's hoping you've brought back some fresh strawberries for dessert tomorrow."

"Um..."

The front door opened and Cray slipped inside. He nodded at Milton, but Milton turned away as if he couldn't bring himself to look at him.

"Your mother's waiting for you in the drawing room," Milton said, walking away to the kitchen.

Cray glanced at me, and in that split second, I knew he was apologizing. And as difficult as it was to digest, I accepted it. For now.

***
If you have finished reading part one, I'm extremely relieved and delighted. If you would like to keep reading, please scroll down for part two. Thank you. Don't forget to try and leave comments. Writers absolutely love see what you have to say.

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