“When you—touch—you are energized?”
“If that’s all you can call it, yes.”
Sykes gave a thin smile. “And the marks Willow spoke of? On the inside?”
“They’re there.”
“Do you know the reason for them?” Sykes asked.
“To punish me. To teach me obedience when I was a child. I don’t know anything else except that I must have had powers I was afraid to use afterward and I forced them from my mind. I’ve been trying to touch Marley, to bring her to me, but she doesn’t answer. I’m too new at this to know what I’m doing.”
“You are returning to your true self. Do you believe you are part of a world very few come to know?”
Gray said, “Yes,” surprising himself with his rapid response. “Marley and I have been able to communicate…without speaking aloud. And I’ve seen things she’s seen. I believe I was meant to be with her.”
“Good.” A pleased smile gave Sykes a piratical air of satisfaction. “Welcome.”
“Thanks.” It seemed the only thing to say.
“Pascal, my uncle, asked me to find her, but she’s being closed off from me,” Sykes said. “That should be impossible…unless she’s a party to it.”
“You mean she could be choosing to stop us from getting to her.”
Sykes nodded slowly.
“Is it possible for someone else to shut her away?” Gray asked.
Sykes jaw clenched. “Anything is possible.”
“The mentor would know,” Gray said quietly.
Gasping, Sykes took a step backward. “What do you know about the Mentor?”
Gray hoped he hadn’t done the wrong thing in mentioning the shadowy man. “I have seen him. He has spoken to me.”
“Impossible. We don’t even know if he exists.”
“He exists. Not the way we do, but he’s here when he wants to be.”
Excitement raised Sykes’s color. “You were sent to Marley,” he said.
“Should I try to ask the Mentor for help?”
“It’s our way to deal with our own problems. We have never asked for help.”
“But he came to me.” He thought better of saying he found the Millets hardheaded.
“Perhaps he’ll come to you again,” Sykes said, and Gray didn’t miss the hopeful note. “He must have made a decision he struggled with. You are Bonded to Marley, but you are not a Millet. He showed himself to you for his own special reasons.”
“To help me help Marley,” Gray said. “He bent his own rules.”
Sykes gave the ghost of a smile.
“You were at Royal Street?” Gray asked.
“No.”
“Then we start there.”
“Uncle Pascal said she isn’t there.”
“I think she is or that’s where we’ll find something to help us,” Gray said. “I know she was going. I drove her there. That’s where I’ll start looking for her.”
“Let’s go, then,” Sykes said and Gray was glad.
By foot was the fastest way to travel while the traffic was so snarled. They ran all the way, dodging and darting, bringing cars to a screeching halt, raising angry shouts from people who got in their path.
The trip took longer than Gray wanted it to, but anything would have been too long. Finally he turned onto Royal Street and sprinted until a hot-dog cart stopped him.
Sykes, with Gray thumping into him in the process, all but fell through the door at J. Claude Millet Antiques.
They were met by a wildly barking Winnie, who jumped up and down on the ugly gold fainting couch.
“Shh,” Willow said. She and Pascal faced the two newcomers as if they’d been waiting for them.
“Anything?” Pascal said to Sykes.
“Willow was right about him,” Sykes said, hooking a thumb in Gray’s direction. “There’s a Bonding.”
Pascal Millet was a muscular, striking man who shaved his head and looked at the world with yet another pair of those extraordinary green Millet eyes. He assumed the expression of a watchful father looking over a teenage boy come to take his daughter to the prom.
“I was sure there was,” Pascal said. “I felt it.”
“So did I,” Willow said, and when they looked at her she pushed her mouth out in an O. “I mean, I sorta thought…”
“You said what you meant,” Sykes said. “You are in tune just as the rest of us are. About time, too. We all have our jobs to do in this family.”
“Except you,” Willow snapped back. “You think you can do what you like.”
“That’s what you think,” Sykes said. “Enough squabbling, sis, we have to find Marley. Uncle, is my father back in London yet?”
Gray frowned at him, not understanding.
“Yes,” Pascal said. “He went straight back.”
“You and I need to talk,” Sykes said. “And with him. Can we go to your flat?”
Without a word, the two of them took off.
Winnie ran back and forth to the foot of the stairs.
“What is it, girl?” Gray said. A sharp sting crossed his face, caught the corner of his eye and he winced.
Gray kept his back to Willow. Horror choked him. He concentrated and felt drawn to Marley’s workroom.
Winnie squeaked at him. She jumped up and down until Gray approached her. Off she went, up the stairs, looking like a mutant greyhound jumping fences.
“Go with her,” Willow said.
“Make sure your cell phone’s on,” Gray said.
“I won’t need it.”
He didn’t respond. Instead he vaulted, three steps at a time, up the three flights. Already hoping his tested methods would unlock the door, he reached for the deep colors of the leaded glass and grasped the handle.
The door wasn’t even closed.
Gray shot inside and shut the thing behind him, leaned on it, almost afraid to go farther into the room.
Pressure held him, pummeled him. His ear drums hurt so badly he sank to his knees.
Wet. Winnie licking his face with desperate fierceness focused him and he got to his feet. The whispering voices bombarded him, forcing themselves to find space, one over the other, vying for his attention.
“I can’t understand you,” he said.
The ceiling whirled with a kaleidoscope of colored lights, spun faster and faster. Gray forced himself to keep his eyes down and made his way through Marley’s projects to her bench.
Curls of red lacquer littered the worktop as did pieces that seemed to be broken off the house. He picked up a piece. It was so hot he almost dropped it.
He turned it over on the bench and saw it was the door that had been at one corner. The walls came together as if it had never been there now, except that rather than red, the finish was a dark salmon color, and painted to look rough. Like stucco.
“You have to go.” This was no whisper. This was a clear voice and Gray saw what he expected, the ethereal image of the one who called himself the Mentor.
“Go where?” he said. “Tell me. Quickly, please.”
“Look at the house. It’s there. She told me it would be.”
“Marley told you?” Gray said.
“No.” The man sounded impatient. “The one who gave Marley the house for safekeeping. Belle came to me and said the house holds the key. Now get to work.”
“I can’t do what Marley does.” He touched the roof and raised his hand. “See, nothing happens. I don’t feel anything.”
“Be patient.”
“I can’t.”
“I am Jude,” the man said. “They called me Judas because they blamed me for the evil acts of someone I should not have trusted. A woman who caused the family to be shunned and driven from their home. I married that woman.
“They said I proved the Millet curse of the dark-haired ones—that evil befalls the family whenever a male Millet child does not have red hair. I have been patient waiting to clear my name. You will be patient finding what you want most. Continue with the house. It will give us the answer.”
Gray rubbed his hands together and picked up a little chisel that felt ridiculously flimsy.
“You can’t stop until we have the answer.”