Page 111 of Seducing Hope (The Hope Legacy)

“I’ll do some shopping. You want anything special?” he asks me.

“Something with layers, key lime pie, a cheesecake, and some rocky road ice cream.”

“Anything not dessert related?” he presses, sounding amused.

“Nope! I’m on a dessert-only diet for the next month,” I declare, contradicting myself by chomping on my toast.

I sit in the armchair he’s vacated and look at Jed.

“As much as I love your company and appreciate your concern, you need to go back.” He looks hurt, so I reach over and pat his knee. “Don’t worry, Smoothie, I still love you. You can come and see us later; I just need to debrief with my team.”

He nods and disappears. I blink—someone disappearing while standing is weird enough, but someone sitting with one leg crossed? I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.

I eat my toast slowly as waves of nausea roll through my stomach. “I’m assuming Archan still has the Jar and we haven’t found Pan, fully deciphered the symbols, or established who these mysterious five are. And let’s not forget—we need to figure out why I suddenly have these powers.”

Duncan nods. “That just about summarizes it.”

“What’s the priority?” I ask.

Aaden grabs his laptop from the floor. “You are.”

I shake my head. “The elusive Pan should come first.”

Duncan perches on the arm of my chair. “Cracking the meaning of the symbols and their relationship with you may lead us to the significance of the Jar and Pan. Also, we need to keep working on controlling your powers.”

My throat goes dry, my toast suddenly tasting like cardboard. “Makes sense. But we should be trying to understand what the Jar is and does. Archan has gone to great lengths to get it.”

“How about a compromise? You three look into the symbols and your powers; Duncan will need to help control them anyway. I’ll research the Jar and Pan,” Aaden proposes.

“We’ll work out of here,” Zee decides.

I go to argue, when Duncan stops me, his warm eyes pleading for me to understand. “It’s your home where you feel the most comfortable. Your grandfather’s house is a two-minute walk away; you can escape us if you need to. We can sleep in your guest rooms, if you don’t mind?”

I look around my living room at the empty mugs and plates scattered across the hearth and tables, and I nearly cry at the state of the five-hundred-dollar rug I treated myself to last month. My pillows have been thrown on the floor, and blankets are strewn across the sofas haphazardly. The window seat is covered in various food wrappers. I’m not a neat freak—I don’t have the time—but Iamtidy.

“If you’re staying, you need to tidy this shit up. Thenkeepit tidy,” I grumble, pointing in the general direction of the mess.

Zee salutes me. “Yes, ma’am.”

I try to smile before I jump up and head toward the door. “I’m going out for a few hours. I have my phone.”

Zee narrows his eyes. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

“Why? The threat to my life has been dealt with. You’re treating me differently—and you need to stop. I’ve dealt with it. Move on—I have.” I pull open the front door.

They all look around at one another, not making eye contact with me. I take that as my opportunity to shut the door behind me. None of them follow.

Free of my self-professed protectors—I don’t point out I can probably kick their asses with my newfound powers—I walk up the hill to my grandfather’s house and enter through the rear garden doors, my usual entrance. Various staff greet me as I search for my grandfather, finally finding him in the kitchen.

He looks up from a table of food and beams at me. “Thank god you’re here—come and taste these hors d’oeuvres.”

Picking something resembling a sausage and apple concoction, I give him my verdict. “That one’s nice.”

“I’m useless at this kind of thing,” he says sadly. My grandmother used to do all the preparation for the parties and balls they’ve always held.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, reaching for my hand, “I was hoping you would come to the Christmas ball. I miss you being there.”

I look out the window at the garden, now kept solely by a gardener rather than my grandmother. A memory of her in a sunhat and a long, flowing, lemon dress pruning roses and picking some for the vase she kept full in the kitchen tugs at my heart. I swing my gaze to where the vase should be. It’s there, but empty. “I’m not sure, Gramps. It’s difficult to do things I used to do with her.”

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