Tide - By Daniela Sacerdoti Page 0,37

What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Another pretend smile.

And then, surprisingly, unexpectedly, she pushed herself into Sean’s arms, all soft cream and white, hair like gold between his fingers, holding on to him – leaving him wondering why this good news, Sarah letting them into her life again, didn’t feel good to her at all. He held her tighter, hiding his face in her neck, trying to make her feel safe. Elodie always had a faint vanilla scent, like a sweet shop, but there was a strange note to it now. Something too sweet, too ripe. Something that worried Sean.

Elodie wrapped her arms around his neck, and her mind was cast back to Marina Frison and her prediction for Elodie’s life. Marina had fed her a pomegranate and then she’d placed it to burn into the wood stove. The pomegranate had come out intact.

It means you’ll love again, she’d said.

Elodie held Sean tighter.

Sarah had walked into the cold, clear night and was looking up to the sky, waiting. The night was icy and the sky full of stars. But what was Sean doing? She turned around, blowing on her frozen fingers, and then she saw them. Silhouetted against the living room window were Sean and Elodie, in each other’s arms.

Sarah brought a hand to her throat. She felt breathless again.

She forced herself to tear her eyes away from them. Nicholas was probably waiting for her on her doorstep, wondering where she was. She took her phone out of her pocket and switched it back on.

Fourteen missed calls and a message, all from Nicholas. The text chilled her blood, when it should have made her heart beat in anticipation.

I’m waiting for you.

15

Torn

Tainted sometimes

Shines like gold

Sean

When we arrived, Nicholas was standing beside the fire in Sarah’s living room. He’d clearly lit it himself, given it was blue. Those freaky blue flames that spurt from his hands give me the creeps. And Nicholas gives me the creeps even more. How is he in her house already? Has she given him a set of keys? Or does he have ways to open doors, like me?

Or is he living with her now?

His eyes narrow briefly as he sees me following Sarah through the door. For a moment I rejoice in his bewilderment, but he regains his composure almost immediately.

“Sean.” He nods. His eyes are just as black as his ravens’, wide and lucid, with a disturbing hint of slow-burning embers. And he’s huge. I’d almost forgotten. I’m not short myself, but he must be well over six foot five. Broad, too.

Freaky.

“Nicholas Donal,” I say without offering him my hand.

“So. Sarah forgave your lies then,” he replies immediately. What he’s really saying is: she made a mistake.

“Yes. Nicholas. She did. And I realize that I never thanked you for saving her life. Our lives.”

Sarah turns to look at me, incredulous. I know what she’s thinking. Is this really Sean talking? Sean showing Nicholas Donal gratitude? Thing is, it’s the only way. I can hardly assault him, as much as I’d like to. He’d toast me with those finger flames of his, for a start. I’m under no illusions as to how powerful this guy is.

Sarah sits down heavily in one of the chairs. She looks drained all of a sudden, and a strange, hazy expression has fallen on her features. Or is it my imagination? It can’t be. I know it isn’t.

“That’s what we’re meant to do, us Secret heirs. Help each other. But of course, I forgot – you’re not an heir, are you?” Nicholas says, a slight smile playing on his lips.

I will my temper to stay in check. You’re right. I’m not an heir. But who are you, really? You look as if you’ve just walked out of a bloody grave.

“Sean’s a Gamekeeper,” Sarah intervenes, the slightest hint of annoyance in her voice. Trouble in paradise?

“Impressive,” he replies, and I allow myself to fantasize about my sgian-dubh making its way into his throat.

“Nicholas Donal.” Elodie’s silvery voice breaks the tension, but only momentarily.

Nicholas looks at her, and he freezes – just for the millionth part of an instant, but I notice. His eyes grow even blacker, shinier, like a kestrel that’s spotted a mouse.

But Elodie doesn’t waver. “I’m Elodie Midnight,” she says.

“Elodie. Of course. I’m sorry … I’m sorry to hear about Harry.” Nicholas lowers his head.

Elodie frowns and looks away. My eyes dart between them, and it’s like seeing the two halves of the Tao – Elodie, all cream and white, blonde and fair, and Nicholas,