Page 156 of Cherish

“I can,” Jaxon says with deadly calm, shoving his chair back with a grating screech as he gets to his feet.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” I answer. “She said the second floor is off-limits, right?”

“Yeah, she said it was her personal space.” Macy pushes back her chair as well as she glances toward the house—and the sweeping circular staircase that’s only a few yards from the veranda we’re currently sitting on. “Should we?”

It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “We should.”

“Absolutely,” Flint comments before shoving his own chair back and lumbering to his feet along with Eden and Heather. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

“I’m a little afraid to find out,” Heather answers, but she’s the first to start walking toward the stairs—and by walking I mean marching like a general.

“We all are,” Macy says, catching up to her in two strides. “But what’s the alternative? Stay here waiting for her to remember we exist until Mekhi dies? We’re not going to do that.”

“No, we’re not. But we’re not going en masse to confront her, either.” I glance at Macy and Heather, who’ve paused with one foot on the stairs. “Why don’t the three of us go talk to her? Call in reinforcements only if we need them.”

“You sure you don’t want me to come?” Hudson asks.

“Do I want you to come? Yeah, of course. But I think that if we’re going to her personal space unannounced, we probably shouldn’t bring a huge group with us, you know?”

When my meaning sinks in, he looks absolutely horrified at the thought of catching the Curator in her skivvies—as do the others.

Jaxon looks like he could give two fucks if she were naked as long as she gave him the answers we need, but I quickly shake my head. He holds my gaze and says, “Five minutes.”

And I’m impressed by his newfound restraint.

Heather, Macy, and I take the stairs two at a time to the Curator’s floor. When we get there, it’s to find that the floor breaks off into two wings, both of which lay behind elaborately carved wood doors.

“Which way do we go?” Macy asks as we look back and forth between them.

“Whichever way we can,” I answer. “Check and see if those are unlocked, and I’ll do the same for these.”

I turn to the left and try both doors, but they don’t budge. I glance back at Heather just in time to watch her push one of the doors on her side open just a crack.

“To the right it is,” I say, moving to join her.

“Should we knock first? At least give her a chance to tell us not to come in?” Macy asks.

“I don’t really want to give her that option,” I answer. “But yeah. We probably should.”

We knock, but when there’s no answer, I decide I’m not in the mood to wait any longer. Every second we waste is a second that Mekhi gets closer to death.

I push the door open all the way and call, “Excuse me? I need to speak with the Curator?”

When there’s still no answer, I give Macy a shrug and step inside.

I’m not sure what I’m expecting, but it’s not the regular sitting room that we walk into. Pale-pink walls, cream couch, light wood coffee and end tables. Ancient books on the bookcases that line one wall. A few knickknacks scattered across the different surfaces.

“This is where the Curator spends all her time?” I ask skeptically.

“No,” the Curator says as one of the bookshelves swings forward and all of a sudden she is standing in the doorway that was just created. “I spend all of my time inhere. Though I do have to ask what you’re doing in my suite when I remember giving very clear instructions for you to stay out.”

The look on her face warns that our answer had better be good.

84

No Time Like

the Present

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