Alchemy of Secrets, page 13
“It’s all right,” Holland said. “I’m not going to fall apart. I’m very familiar with my parents’ story.”
She started to pull away, but Gabe held her there a second longer, before very quietly saying, “I didn’t know. Your sister never told me.”
“We don’t tell anyone,” Holland said. “I only told you because I didn’t think you’d let me go to the Bank otherwise.”
“I’m still not sure about letting you go.” Gabe removed his hand from her shoulder. “But as much as I hate to admit it—you might be on to something.” His expression suggested he might regret what he was about to say next. “There were rumors about Ben Tierney being in possession of the Alchemical Heart.”
“So you think I’m right?” Holland asked cautiously.
“I didn’t say that.” Gabe rubbed his knuckles across his jaw. “It was just a rumor. That’s why I told you the Alchemical Heart was a myth, because all the recent stories aren’t even real stories. They’re just whispers, bits of gossip that people like to repeat.”
“Just because it’s gossip doesn’t mean it’s not true. My father opened the box fifteen years ago. So the timing matches the date in the journal.”
“That could just be a coincidence,” Gabe argued.
“One thing can be a coincidence, but when you have multiple things that all add up, it’s a story,” Holland said.
“And you think this story ends with your father putting the most valuable object in the world inside a safety deposit box?”
Holland wanted to say yes. Her gut kept telling her the answer was yes. But she didn’t feel as if her gut was enough to win an argument with Gabe.
Holland pulled out the Professor’s journal.
“What are you looking for?” Gabe asked.
“The Professor taught a class on the Bank,” Holland said. It was the one class she could never seem to remember, but she felt as if it presented a different picture of the Bank than Gabe did, and she imagined the Professor had written things about it in her journal.
“The Bank is good at propaganda,” Gabe muttered.
Ignoring his glare, Holland continued to flip pages. “Here it is. The Professor wrote that the Bank’s vaults are the safest and most secure in the world—no one has ever stolen anything from the Bank, including the Bank. The Bank enforces all the laws of their world. One of the reasons they are able to keep this power is because they abide by all the rules. The Bank’s branches hold the greatest number of magical objects in the entire world, and one of the reasons people are willing to store their most valuable magic objects there is because they know they won’t be touched. As long as they have an appointment.” She paused. “Is this true?”
Gabe worked his jaw unhappily, which made her feel as if the answer was yes. “What else does she say?”
“One of the Bank’s most well-known rules is that they offer protection to anyone with an appointment. If you have an appointment, no one, not even the Bank, can touch you during that window of time.”
Holland looked up at Gabe hopefully. If this was true, then it made even more sense that her father would have put the Alchemical Heart in one of the Bank’s boxes.
Gabe paced the tiny room. He looked as if he was debating sending her into an evil bank to retrieve a mythical treasure that might not actually be there or …
There actually wasn’t another option available, which he seemed to realize.
“You’re not going to have a problem getting into the Bank,” he finally gritted out. “If you have an appointment, then they want you in—they want you to open your father’s box. The tricky part is going to be getting you out. As soon as your appointment is over and you’re off the property, they’ll try to detain you.”
“So you’re going to let me go?”
“I don’t think I can stop you,” he said, which sounded like about as nice of a compliment as Gabe could give.
Holland tried to say as much, but suddenly she was having a difficult time breathing. The light had faded and the room had gone fuzzy. Her head was spinning a little, and when she was able to speak again, words came out that she didn’t mean to say. “What if my father’s box doesn’t have the Alchemical Heart and the Bank detains me?”
“I won’t let that happen. You get in, I’ll make sure you get out,” Gabe said. But suddenly he no longer looked like Gabe. He looked just like Adam Bishop. Golden hair, golden skin, devil-may-care expression on his beautiful face.
Holland blinked, but when she opened her eyes, she was still looking at Adam.
Adam was in the beach house, right in front of her, real enough to touch, wearing the same ripped jeans and plaid shirt as before, only now the shirt was open and she could see a bandage wrapping around his shoulder.
“Trust me, Bright Eyes,” he said, and he sounded like Adam, too. “I’m not going to let anyone hold on to you but me.” His mouth slowly tipped into a smirk as he wrapped his arms around her waist.
Holland tried to pull free, but she felt helpless as he tugged her closer. All she could do was shut her eyes again. Tighter this time.
“Holland—” This time the voice sounded like Gabe. He took hold of her shoulder, just as she felt something wet drip from her nose.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Holland opened her eyes.
Adam was gone.
Gabe was back, and the beach house was suddenly too bright, as if someone had turned all the lights on at once. The wall of fake greenery looked lurid, the couch was a brasher shade of orange than before, and there was a lot of bright red blood on her hand.
Was this how she died? Was something happening with her brain that only the Alchemical Heart could fix?
Gabe carefully dabbed at her nose with a small yellow towel. She hadn’t seen him go and grab it, but she also hadn’t seen him during the minute she’d been imagining Adam.
“You all right?” Gabe asked.
Nope. Definitely not all right. Not even close.
The microwave clock read 2:17. Suddenly she was exhausted to her bones.
All she wanted was to sleep, and to hear someone say it was all going to be all right by the time the credits rolled, and maybe she wanted a hug. She actually really wanted a hug. If she’d been with anyone else, she might have asked for one, but Gabe seemed as if he might be allergic to hugs. “I think I’m just tired.”
Gabe looked at her skeptically. “Do you always bleed when you’re tired?”
“I don’t know that I’ve ever been this tired,” she said. And she decided to believe that rather than confess that this was the third time in twenty-four hours her nose had bled and she’d seen things that weren’t there. Maybe it wasn’t the best decision she’d ever made. But as Aunt Beth always liked to say, Only mistakes happen after two o’clock in the morning. “I’m going to go … clean up.”
The bathroom Holland went into was covered in wallpaper printed with giant lemons. The floor was tiled in black-and-white checkers, and right in the middle of it was a large bath mat shaped like two red cherries. The bright little carpet looked clean and soft, and Holland immediately plopped down on it.
First, she took off January’s backpack. Then she finally removed her shoe and tipped it over. The sole immediately dislodged, and a key attached to a red plastic key chain with the words Motor Hotel fell out into her hand.
There was a quick bolt of static electricity, but other than that the key was unremarkable. It looked like something from a ’60s motel. This was not what Holland had expected. She might have thought it was a useless tchotchke, but then why had January hidden it in her shoe?
Holland remembered then that the Professor had mentioned a hotel in her journal. She quickly pulled the notebook from her backpack and flipped until she found the right page.
The Regal
Perhaps the greatest myth of all, or at least the grandest. The Regal is the embodiment of why people spend their lives searching for magic.
Must be a registered key holder, or on the official guest list of a registered key holder.
Guests of registered key holders may stay up to 24 Regal hours.
Key holders may stay as long as they wish, and some of them do just that.
It’s rumored that a number of mysterious disappearances are actually people who checked into the Regal and never checked out.
Behavioral and dress codes are strictly enforced.
No naked animals (not sure if this is a joke).
It’s said to exist outside of time. One hour in the Regal is one minute in the real world, making it the perfect place for those who never want to grow old, or those who wish to hide.
Holland wondered if this was a key to the Regal. But grand hotels didn’t have plastic key chains. When her father used to create treasure hunts for her as a child, he would always let her know when she’d found all the clues. He’d gently tell her, You already have everything you need. You just have to see it. Then she would know that she didn’t need to keep searching for clues, she just needed to piece together what she had. But she didn’t have her father to tell her that now.
That was what she really wanted—for her father, or her sister, or someone else who loved her to tell her she had everything she needed, that she was going to be okay, that she wasn’t all alone.
Continuing to search for more answers might have quelled some of her curiosity, but it wasn’t going to give her what she really wanted. A shower started in another bathroom. Holland could hear the pipes vibrating through the thin walls. Gabe must have been taking a shower, and suddenly she was desperate for one, too.
The water was cold by the time she stepped in, but it still felt good to clean off all the grime. Once she was dry, she changed into a clean tank top and a thin pair of shorts from the backpack.
After dressing, Holland opened the door and stepped into the attached bedroom. The light in the room was soft and low, pouring out from a chandelier made of wooden beads. There were no neon signs, just plastic vines of flowers on the wall behind the bed, and Gabe standing there without a shirt on.
His dark hair was damp, his bandaged chest was a bronzed shade of brown, and all he wore were black boxers that sat dangerously low on his hips. Holland told herself not to stare, but he was so close, standing right in front of her, with barely any clothes on, and barely any space between them.
He needed to move if she was going to walk past him to the door. And she was going to walk past him.
Holland didn’t want to sleep with Gabe. Not that way or the other way. Except she sort of did. She just knew if she did, it would be another one of those after-two-in-the-morning mistakes.
Holland needed to leave the room and sleep in a bed alone. Even if this was her last night alive, which it wasn’t. She couldn’t think like that.
Water dripped down her back, soaking through her white tank top, as she took a step toward the door.
Gabe reached out. His hand landed on the dip in her waist. Butterflies fluttered inside her. She hadn’t expected him to touch her there. The hint of surprise on his face made her think he hadn’t expected it, either. That he had been reaching for something else, but his fingers had landed on her waist instead.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I need to go to bed,” she said.
“There’s a bed in here.” His hand slid around her back, pressing against her damp shirt.
“Oh, no—” Holland wriggled free, bare feet nearly slipping on the wood as she took a step back. “You’re also in here and—”
“I don’t know why you’re arguing.” He took another step until she was once again too close to him and his bare chest. “We both know I’m sleeping in whatever bed you’re sleeping in.”
Her stomach dipped. And then he was pulling her onto the bed.
One second she was standing, and the next they were lying in bed. Together. His arms around her. “I’m not letting you out of my sight,” he murmured.
Holland should have told him he didn’t need to hold her this close to see her. She didn’t need to be wrapped up in his arms, which were so much stronger than she’d expected. But the truth was that the weight of Gabe’s arms felt nice. Maybe a little more than nice, maybe it made her feel as if she wasn’t so alone.
As Gabe drifted to sleep, one of his hands slipped under her shirt just enough that his warm fingers were pressed to her bare stomach, and instead of pulling away, Holland leaned deeper in.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
It didn’t feel like morning.
It felt like a late summer afternoon, when the light was a grainy sort of bright, and the day was so warm that everything had turned a little hazy.
Holland was awake, but she couldn’t quite open her eyes. They were heavy with sleep and leftover dreams. For a second, she couldn’t remember where she was. The room smelled like the ocean, and there was another person entwined with her.
She panicked, briefly flailing, and the arms around her tightened.
“Babe, relax, you’re safe.” His hand rubbed a circle over her stomach.
Then she felt his lips on her shoulder, her neck, her ear.
This was a bad idea.
This was a really bad idea, for too many reasons to list, reasons that would only make her more nervous, because she would only do this with him if she knew she really was going to die today. And she didn’t want to die today.
“We can’t do this.” She wiggled out of his arms and turned on her side to face him, which was definitely a mistake.
Adam looked beautiful in the morning. He was softer in the grainy light, with his hair mussed and his eyes still hooded from sleep. “Good morning, Bright Eyes.” He put a hand on her hip. It was confident and warm and—
A drop of blood fell from his nose, followed by another, and another.
“Adam—” Holland reached for him, but he didn’t move. He didn’t even flinch as more blood poured onto the bed. His eyes were still open, but they had gone glassy.
“Adam!” Holland screamed his name as she shook his shoulder, but the only thing that moved was the blood. “Adam! Adam—”
“Holland—” he said, but his mouth wasn’t moving. He was still frozen and bleeding.
“Adam!” She continued to shake him.
“Holland!” his voice cried, louder this time. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder. “Holland, wake up! Wake up!”
For a second, her eyes were still shut, refusing to open. Trapped in that broken space between dreams.
“It’s all right,” Gabe coaxed. Not Adam. Adam was just a dream. Gabe was real. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”
Her eyes finally blinked open. Gabe was sitting up in the bed. One hand held her shoulder, the other held a pillowcase, soaked with her blood.
She tasted it then: blood on her lips. “What’s wrong with me?” she asked.
“I don’t know. You—” Gabe hesitated, jaw briefly clenching. “You were screaming Adam’s name.”
Holland felt a wave of mortification, followed by alarm. She didn’t want to tell Gabe she’d had a very realistic dream that she was in bed with Adam. Especially not right now, when Gabe had a look on his face that said he’d very much like another chance to shoot Adam. Instead, she said, “I was probably just reliving yesterday. And I should probably go clean up.”
Holland rose out of the bed on wobbly legs and hurried to the bathroom. After washing her face, she opened January’s backpack again. Underneath her sister’s miscellanea, Holland found a surprising number of clothes along with a very complete bag of toiletries. Holland pulled out an emerald-green silk dress with cap sleeves, a plunging neckline, and a wrap waist. It looked dressy for a visit to a bank, but Holland had a feeling the Bank was fancier than the average savings and loan.
Next, she tried on her sister’s heels. They were black patent leather and higher than she would have liked. But at least they were a little chunky, with cute retro buttons on the sides that went well with the green dress.
They would not be great for running, but Holland hoped she wouldn’t need to run. There was a small black purse in her sister’s backpack as well. Holland pulled it out and put a few personal items inside, including her sister’s plastic Motor Hotel key. She felt another burst of static when she touched the key and, once again, wondered what it was for.
Gabe knocked loudly on the bathroom door. “You almost ready?”
There was a different scent wafting through the beach house when Holland opened the door. Butter. Syrup. Cinnamon. Bacon. Coffee. Had Gabe cooked her breakfast?
The kitchen was just off the living room. Like the rest of the house, the little nook was primed for photos. The cabinets were a freshly painted mid-century shade of green, the appliances were glossy vintage cream, and retro vinyl diner chairs—with thick cream stripes down the center—surrounded the table.
Holland stepped closer, taking in the mountain of cardboard take-out containers. If she was reading the scrawl correctly, then Gabe had ordered pumpkin pancakes, pumpkin French toast, pumpkin sausages, pumpkin waffles, and her favorite pumpkin chocolate chip muffins. All of a sudden, she remembered it was Halloween. Had he ordered all this for her?
The back of her shoulders prickled with a feeling of being watched. She spun around to find Gabe leaning in the doorway.
He was dressed in a pinstripe blue suit she was certain he wasn’t wearing last night. She would have remembered how brilliant it made his eyes look. Or maybe she was just painfully aware of the way he was looking at her, gliding up her bare legs before taking in the short silky dress.
Then he was striding toward the table, as if checking her out had been an accident. She wondered if he thought sleeping in the bed with her had been a mistake as well. Instead of feeling more comfortable around him, she felt as if everything was a little more awkward.
Holland had a fleeting thought that it would be nice if certain relationships came with care instructions like clothing labels:
