Sins of Mine - Mary E. Twomey Page 0,42

a patient man, Paxton. He has the means to hold Arly captive until her hair grows back.”

Cassia pipes in from the living room, not daring to leave Charlotte’s side. “I don’t get it. He’s her father. They lived in the same house for years. He could have taken her hair her whole childhood. Why didn’t he?”

“Madness isn’t achieved in a day,” Sloan explains. “It takes years to descend to the depths he’s reached.”

Charlotte speaks up, her voice weepy as she blows her nose into a tissue. “I could feel Arly’s energy when she first entered Prigham’s. I can understand how the temptation to take it could override reason, if love was forgotten.”

I trot to the bathroom and grab a second box of tissues, then make my way into the living room to set it on the coffee table for anyone who might need one. I pluck a few from the box and dab at Charlotte’s face. “We will find her. We have not forgotten how to love well.”

Sloan can’t even get his coat on without help, which Jen refuses to offer. Watching him struggle with the heavy fabric is a pitiful sight. “I need to track her down now.”

Gray rises from the chair to which he’s been glued. “You’re not going anywhere alone, Sloan. Charlotte, you can find her for us. We did that thing with our blood on your tongue. We’re tied to you. You can lead us to her.”

Charlotte blows her nose again, her pupils flicking from side to side as she attempts to pull herself together. Finally, she nods. “Of course. I’m out of sorts, though. It would help if you all sat with me. Easier to access my more obscure magic if I can draw on someone else.”

Sloan freezes, his arm halfway in his sleeve. “Me. Draw from me.”

Jen’s tattooed arms fold over her ample bosom. “Ho, no. You need all the magic you have to help you heal. Park it right there at the table, Mister. I’m not above taking your shoes so you can’t leave.”

Sloan’s lips tighten. “You say that like going barefoot would ever stop me from protecting my daughter.”

Jen softens and pulls out a seat at the dining room table. The open concept of the first floor makes it so one room isn’t cut off from the next. “Sit, Sloan. I know you care about Arly. We’ll find her. But if you faint halfway there, then we’ll have to delay rescuing Arly to take care of you. Take a breather while Charlotte does her thing. Then we’ll all go, if I can’t convince you to stay home.”

Sloan’s shoulders sag. “Fine. Charlotte, do what you need to do to send us in the right direction.”

Charlotte is still hiccupping back her tears as she straightens, parting from Cassia’s embrace. “Okay, let’s do this.” She straightens as much as her spirit allows and shakes out her hands. Her meditative pose of her hands on her knees, palms up while breathing deep through her nose communicates that she’s tapping into possibilities of which we could never dream.

Only a few beats later, her head hangs in defeat. “It’s too foggy! It’s me! I’m the problem. I can’t focus. I can’t concentrate.”

“We have to find her!” Sloan shouts, though not angrily.

Sloan’s heart is in the right place but his volume does nothing to calm the nerves Charlotte must ignore if she’s to locate Arlanna.

I point to Sloan. “You, go to Arlanna’s bedroom and pack her whatever she might need if she’s been shoved in some hole by the family.”

Though she’s only been missing half a day, and probably only needs a rescue at this point, Sloan stands and ambles up the steps, taking pride in his post. Really, I just need him out of here, as he’s the one who is no doubt messing with Charlotte’s clarity.

Once Jen helps Sloan the rest of the way up the steps, Charlotte exhales. “Thanks, Paxton.”

“Absolutely. Would it help if I held your hands? You can draw on my magic, if you like.”

She nods, sniffling through too many emotions. “Cheers, brother. I’m trying! I really am.” She shakes her head at herself.

Sometimes a person needs someone like Sloan to snap them into action. But right now, I know I am the perfect person to be sitting on the coffee table across from Charlotte, our knees touching as we hold hands. My rare talent (more impressive to me than shooting fire from my eyes) is that I can find serenity, fresh in the