Kindling the Moon (Arcadia Bell #1)(45)

She ignored my rising anger. “Do you have anything to report?”

Total attitude.

Suddenly furious, I realized that I didn’t trust her or Frater Kantor or anyone in that damn lodge one bit. I had planned to ask her advice about Riley Cooper, and the strange green dot that had appeared in my servitor transmission … I had even planned to tell her about the glass talon. Not now. No way in hell.

“Nothing that I can tell you,” I said coldly. “When you get an update on the caliph, you call me immediately instead of waiting around for me to come to you. Otherwise, I’ll speak with you before the final date for the council.”

“Of course,” she said with forced politeness, inclining her head.

It probably wasn’t the brightest idea for me to piss off my last possible link to the caliph, but I didn’t care anymore; I was tired of being nice to people I didn’t like.

17

I was still fuming and stressed over the Grandmaster’s news when I pulled into Lon’s driveway after lunch. He greeted me at the door in his typical stained T-shirt and faded jeans that had holes in both knees. Not fake deconstructed holes made in some factory, but the real kind. I wondered how many years of wear it took to get them. He was on his cell, so he waved me inside and pointed me to a set of sliding glass doors at the far end of the living room that led out to a patio.

I made my way across the room and dumped my purse on an olive-colored sectional sofa. A plush area rug was here, along with a couple of leather chairs that looked comfortable and inviting. I glanced around looking for examples of Lon’s photography; I hadn’t noticed any the first night I’d been here. Just a couple of large paintings and a colorful 1920s print advertising a circus. I spotted a few small photos hanging high above the sliding glass door, but before I could examine them closely, I became distracted by what lay on the other side of the glass. Amanda had been so excited about Lon’s property; now that I was witnessing it in the daytime, I understood why.

I slid the door open and stepped outside onto a deep patio covered by matching modern cement ceiling that sheltered it from the weather. Where the patio stopped, a large, wraparound redwood deck started, with three tiers of long steps that led down to a narrow yard filled with native California plants: small palms, lavender, coastal sagebrush, and several stunning Monterey cypress trees with their unusual wind-sculpted trunks that curved beneath the flattened evergreen tops. The verdant patch was well tended inside curving stone borders that wrapped around the side of the house.

Beyond the small garden of Eden lay a long, wide strip of bright green lawn; past that, the land became rocky. The house stood on the edge of a steep cliff that dropped, leveled off, then dropped again and fell into the ocean. Miles and miles of the blue Pacific. The tree line had been cut to reveal a spectacular unobstructed view, but became dense at the edges of the property so that you couldn’t see another house, building—not another living soul. It was as if civilization didn’t exist. I stood at the top of the tiered steps and looked out over it in amazement as the coastal wind whipped my hair around my face.

A couple minutes later, a glossy black dog with a purple collar emerged from the garden and bounded up the steps to greet me.

“You must be Foxglove,” I said as I bent down to offer her my hand. She sniffed twice, then nuzzled her nose against my arm. Two powerful paws lurched up on my knees as she shot toward my face and began licking my chin. “Whoa, down, girl!” I said with a laugh, turning my face away. “You’re definitely Jupe’s dog—no boundaries, huh?”

I stood and wiped my face as she looked up at me, panting happily, tail wagging. I scratched her neck as she sniffed my legs; maybe she smelled Mr. Piggy on me. Then her ears cocked at the sound of a bird, and she darted away as quickly as she’d arrived, disappearing through a small cypress grove at the side of the property.

“Do you like it?”

I turned to find Lon sauntering up behind me. “The view? Unbelievable.”

“See that bit of land jutting out down there? The sea stack?” He pointed to the coast below where the waves were breaking furiously against several rocky columns of graduated cliffs that extended into the sea. “That’s Mermaid Point. Ever heard of it?”

“No.”

“It’s what La Sirena was named after. The local Pomo Indians say that their ancestors believed a strange spirit lived in the water there. They’d offer it gifts for good luck—floated planks of wood with food and flowers in the water.”

“Interesting. I wonder if there really was something there? Sometimes there’s truth in old myths.”

“I don’t know, but Jupe swears he’s seen a ghost out there a few times. Foxglove sometimes howls out there.”

“Mmm … sure it’s not an imp?”

He chuckled. “Probably.”

We stood together in happy silence, and for a long moment, I forgot about everything. My mind just went blank. It was so peaceful. Morella seemed so far away … Then it all came back in a jarring rush—my parents, the albino demon, Riley Cooper, the caliph. I wanted to kick something.

Lon must have sensed my mood change; he gave me a sidelong glance and tapped my elbow. “Come and sit with me on the patio.”

I followed him up the wooden deck stairs and back under the cement ceiling to a small metal table with four chairs. A pot of steaming tea sat there along with a book and his silver cigarette case.