Page 14 of Crown of Tides and Fury

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Wickham hadno news to share about Fallon or Annag. The Sea Witch continued to function as if the woman and her granddaughter had taken an unplanned holiday. And no word of Griffon. Our Irish historians, Brian and Flann, had been monitoring the Oxford professor’s emails and phone usage, but there had been no activity on his part.

All work was cancelled for yet another day, which turned out to be a good thing, since Everly lost her mind. She decided no one could be trusted to choose their own clothing for the big photo shoot, so she took each of us, one at a time, for a personal tour of our wardrobes. Arguing with her was futile.

At quarter to five that evening, she herded us out to the veranda, and despite a professional photographer ready and waiting, Everly directed us, moving us around the steps like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

Wearing a full set of jewelry again, after a month of casual dress, made me incredibly self-conscious, but I was happy to see I wasn’t alone. Decked out in his pretty blue kilt, Urban fussed with the flouncy thing tied around his neck. He wore a black vest over his white shirt, and his hair was tied back, which exposed his sharp cheekbones. I was careful not to stare too long. Dang, but Everly was a lucky woman.

Wickham’s sisters surprised us all with their vintage blue dresses that puddled slightly at their feet. The swirls and flowers were very 70’s, as were their high-piled hairdo’s. The twins from Tunisia wore pale orange Koftans, a traditional dress for them, adorned with intricate yellow, blue and green embroidery and gold beads. They also wore veils with strings of beads that hung vertically over the lower half of their faces but didn’t hide their bright smiles.

Reem had begun to warm up to me just before we left for the coast. Now we were back to being strangers again. But there was something about gathering for a photo that brought down barriers. Maybe it was the fact that someone with a camera ordered us to stand closer, to touch, and to smile while doing it.

Maybe Wickham had hoped for just that result.

Two things surprised me. First, Everly had managed to gather thirteen of us together without a black shirt in the bunch. Not an easy feat for a bunch of sullen monster hunters. And second, Persi.

Persephone Ward dressed like a badass twenty-four seven. Even the t-shirt she wore to bed was black. But Everly had finally gotten a hold of her and, like me, she might never be the same again. That evening, she looked allPretty Womanin an A-line skirt of navy floral, a dotted blouse, and a white suit jacket with a wide navy belt.

When she finally found the courage to come out the door, none of us could look away, especially Dominic Kitchens. After a long look, though, he walked away as if she’d had no effect on him at all. Persi turned her back and moved to the opposite end of our little mob.

I shouldn’t have been surprised to see Persi and Kitch avoiding each other again, but I was. I thought they’d grown chummy in the last month, with fewer eyes watching their every move. But I might have been wrong.

Persi stood on the second step to the far north, behind the Muir brothers. Kitch squatted on the bottom step in front of Loretta and Lorraine. He, too, had found lighter-colored clothes to replace his mercenary fashion. His warm tan sweater with short sleeves showed his tan had more to do with his genealogy than his exposure to the sun. He wore loose-legged pants that said he belonged on a golf course…in Cuba, maybe…instead of hiding in the back of a SWAT vehicle.

Meral and Reem sat together on a wrought-iron bench in the front. Alwyn, in a pale yellow summer suit and spotted bow tie, took a position beside Lorraine, but down a step. Wickham stood on the back row, behind his sisters. I was placed beside him, clearly visible between Loretta’s head and the handsome Urban, who stood dead center. A gap was left for Everly, who finally asked for the female photographer’s opinion.

After the two women consulted, Everly started waving her arms. “We’re off balance. Kitch! I need you to go up and take Persi’s spot. Persi, I need you to take one step to your right. You and Lennon will bracket Urban and me.”

She hurried to take her spot next to her husband and missed Kitch’s hesitation. I glanced at Persi to see if she was okay with the last directive, but she had already shifted. When Kitch came to stand beside her, she pretended not to notice, but I saw her fingers flexing—like antennae trying to sense just how close he was.

The photographer looked through the lens of her mounted camera for a long minute, then stepped back and laughed. “Do you people even know each other? Come on! I want the big man in the kilt to stay put. Everyone else, move twelve inches toward center.”

We shifted. Persi’s hands fisted.

The photographer shook her head. “Right then. Do just as I say.” She started at Alwyn’s end and told everyone where to put their hands. By the time she was finished, we were all touching in one way or another. Loretta wrapped her right hand around Alwyn’s elbow and held her sister’s hand with her left. Flann rested his right hand on his brother’s left shoulder.

Urban was happy to wrap his arm around his wife. Wickham rested his hands on his sisters’ outside shoulders as if holding them together. And I was forced—forced—to rest my left hand on Urban’s right shoulder where there was only a thin layer of cotton between me and his hard muscles.

The photographer addressed Persi and Kitch. “Are the pair of you enemies?”

They both shook their heads, though not convincingly.

“Then you wouldn’t mind him putting his arm around your waist. That’s right. And you should turn a bit, dig that shoulder into his chest. That’s it! Perfect. Everyone take a deep breath now. Some of you are looking blue. Another deep breath. Now…smile like someone’s cut wind.”

And we did—smile, that is.

Later that night, a bunch of us were sitting around watching an old movie when the photographer sent us a rough draft of the family picture. Wickham cast the image to the TV screen, and we had a good laugh remembering just what had put those earnest smiles on our faces.

The mansion behind us looked glorious in the afternoon sun. We all looked glorious, in fact, thanks to Everly. For the most part, everyone appeared chummy and comfortable. And Persi and Kitch looked the happiest of all!

But I couldn’t help noticing how alone I looked. How disconnected, despite my hand on Urban’s shoulder. Or maybe it was just an impression I got due to the gaps—two perfect gaps to either side of the woman who looked like me…

Either of which could have been filled, not long ago, by a certain Oxford professor.

6

Debating With A Witch

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