One Way Fare Read online

  “Maybe I should have left a trail of breadcrumbs,” she muttered under her breath.

  “Ours is the one with two satellite dishes, three doors down from the fountain.” Thomas, now several yards ahead, looked back at her. “I have good hearing.”

  Twenty minutes later she was sipping excellent coffee and checking out the room around her. Her first impression was of a casually charming French country cottage. But nobody lives here, she realized. No photos, no books or magazines lying around, no little trinkets, not a thing out of place. And everything matched. Leila, the daughter of a successful interior designer, recognized it right away. This is a stage set, and I don’t want to see the play.

  “Sorry—I had a long drive and I should go. Mr. Chapel said you would have keys for me,” she told Thomas. “Maybe I should get up there before it gets dark.”

  He looked uncomfortable but stood up. “Do you ride?”

  “I haven’t been on a bike in years. Doesn’t the road go up there?”

  “Not bikes, Princess.”

  She followed him outside and stared in disbelief. Two horses grazed in the field across the road. “Seriously?”

  Thomas’ bark of unwilling laughter was her only answer.

  “Mr. Chapel has a lot of ’splaining to do,” Gaby muttered to her disinterested horse as she bumped along the path in Thomas’ wake.

  “He never explains,” Thomas tossed over his shoulder.

  “Stop hearing things you just couldn’t be hearing,” she yelled back.

  A few minutes later, he pointed up. The stone walls towered over them in the gathering dusk. Branches of ivy searched for rooflines softened by age, while water splashed gently into an elegantly simple fountain within the circular front drive.

  “Ooh-kay,” Leila muttered as Thomas tied their horses to a rail. “This is the part in the movie where you yell at the teenage blonde to stay out of the haunted mansion. When does the guy in the hockey mask show up?”

  “Do you want to go in?” Thomas asked.

  “I know I’m short. And American. And I couldn’t dissect the frog in biology class if every pair of shoes I own was on the line. But even I know better than to go in there in the dark.” Leila was turning back to the horse when he unlocked the front door and flipped a light switch.

  She stared. “Wait—are you telling me we have to ride horses up here to the Land Before Time, but it has electricity?”

  “Running water and flush toilets,” Thomas stepped back and waved her in. “And internet. The generator works just fine. Trust me.” He pointed vaguely toward the white-shrouded shapes in the hall.

  “We covered most of the furniture because nobody has lived here for a while.”

  “Not even a short guy named Igor who walks with a limp?” Leila followed him in, looking at the high walls and tall windows.

  Thomas looked back at her. “How much did my grandfather tell you about Chateau Marsaut?”

  “I never met your grandfather. The Mr. Chapel I talked to must have been your uncle or something because he was only about thirty. And he didn’t tell me much. He said when the last daughter died a few years ago, she left a letter explaining her older sister had died in childbirth and the baby was adopted. He thinks that baby was me.”

  And how lame is that? She asked herself. Nobody dies “in childbirth” anymore. When Leila was fourteen, Mom made an appointment for her to talk to a therapist about any issues she might have regarding her adoption. Leila had told him frankly she thought it was the Egg/Sperm Donors’ loss because she ended up with the best parents in the world. “If you want to talk issues,” she’d challenged the therapist, “you can tell me how I’m supposed to take a shower in gym when I’m the only one in the history of the school who doesn’t even need a training bra.” He didn’t have much to offer on that one either, she recalled. Now I should get excited about a total stranger reaching out from the grave?

  “Hello, Princess? I’m still standing here.” Thomas waved a hand in front of her.

  “What’s that about anyway?” Leila looked up at him. “What does your family have to do with all this? And don’t tell me it’s a long story, Tommy. I’ve been waiting eighteen years for this one, and as far as I’m concerned, I don’t have any more time to waste on it.”

  He shuddered. “You must never call me Tommy. And it’s not such a long story.”

  “Are you English?”

  “My father is from London, and my mother’s family is from Fontaine Hantée.” He shrugged. “But we spend a lot of time with my grandfather in London. My mother’s aunt left the house in the village to her, so it’s our home when we’re in France.”

  “This house with the covered furniture and the dust is more lived-in than your house in Fontaine Hantée.” Her eyes widened, and she slapped a hand over her mouth. “Um… Sorry! Sometimes my thoughts go straight to the lips without any processing time.”

  “The house is part of the story.” Thomas moved back to the front door. “If you really don’t want to go back to town, let me get the horses into the barn, and I’ll come back in and explain.”

  But Thomas didn’t get right down to the explanation. He took Leila through the Chateau to show her the main rooms. As they passed through high-ceilinged drawing rooms to what he called the long gallery, Thomas waved at the sheet-covered frames on the walls. “Your mother’s family. Do you want to see any of them?”

  “I don’t know.” She imagined dozens of painted eyes staring down at her. “Are any of them my…”

  “Parents? I don’t think so.”

  As they headed through the library, dining room, and finally what Thomas called the ballroom, Leila’s panic grew. Growing up around her father’s construction company and her mother’s interior design business left her both impressed with the scale of the Chateau and horrified at the thought of having to take care of it.

  She found herself sitting in the kitchen in shock while Thomas made two cups of tea. While their tea steeped, he went back upstairs to turn on heat and lights in the master suite. “I don’t want any of it,” she muttered to the velvet box on the table.

  “You’ve got it,” Thomas called from about two floors up.

  “Cut it out, Creepy-ears,” she yelled back.

  Only one thing to do, Leila decided, pulling out her phone. “Mom?”

  As she was hanging up, Thomas came in carrying a small, framed picture. “Why would your parents want to help you turn the Chateau into a hotel?”

  “I think it’s their idea of retirement.” Leila stared at him. “What is it with your hearing? And the rest of it, of course.”

  Thomas carefully set the picture on the table before he sat down and stared into his cup of tea. “Have you ever noticed yourself able to do anything other people can’t?”

  “I hope you mean something like touch my elbows behind my back or roll my tongue, and no, I can’t do either of those.”

  “My family can hear really well.” He seemed to consider for a moment. “And a few other things too… Plus, we live a long time.”

  “How long?”

  “My grandfather is centuries old.” Thomas glanced up from the tea.

  “Yeah.” Leila nodded. “My grandfather acts like he came over on the Mayflower.”

  “No.” He took a sip of tea and set the cup down before looking back at her. “The Sebastian Chapel you met in London really is my grandfather. He was born in France in 1702.”

  “Ooh-kay…” Moving slowly and carefully, Leila stepped away from the table. “Well, that’s pretty interesting, but I’ve had a long day and I think maybe you should take off and thanks for taking me up here and I’m going to be really busy for the next few days, bye.” She edged to the door and made shooing motions.

  Thomas didn’t move. “I know a little about what you are. I’ll bet you think I’m younger than you, but I’m actually nineteen. Neither one of us will look that old for … well, for a long time. Your mother was like my family, but your father was … di
fferent. The people around here don’t like either part, so I’m stuck babysitting a spoiled, rich American.”

  “I knew it.” Leila sighed. “Are we talking the cold shoulder for newcomers or peasants with torches and pitchforks?”

  “I hope I’m wrong, but the pitchforks are a lot more likely.” He lifted the picture from the table and gazed at it bleakly for a moment before turning it toward her. She moved cautiously back to the table and tilted the frame to the light. In the photo, a handsome young man smiled proudly into the wide green eyes of his bride. Leila had seen those green eyes in her mirror for the past eighteen years.

  “My brother Danny,” Thomas said quietly. “The day he married your Aunt Cécile. They were killed six years ago, probably by someone around here. And you were right about our house. My family doesn’t really live there. We keep it for show, but actually, we’re supposed to take care of your family. If you want to know the truth, I was glad when we thought all your family were dead because it meant I could go to University.

  “I was meant to be starting my second year at Cambridge. Instead, I found out you were coming, and it’s my job to guard you. If you want me to leave, I will, but I’ll have to sleep in the barn in case you have any trouble. And just so you know, Princess, my room at Cambridge was much more comfortable than your barn.” With a final glare, he snatched up the picture and left the room.

  Leila staggered into the kitchen the next morning. “Marry me,” she begged Thomas when he met her with a steaming cup of coffee and an omelet. “You can make the coffee every morning, and I’ll take you away from all this.”

  “Jet lag?” Thomas sat down in front of a plate piled high with food.

  “Rooster from Hell. I thought they did their thing at dawn—which, by the way, is sick enough. But this bird would not shut up. I’m not kidding, he has to die. How do you kill roosters? And by that,” she clarified, “I do mean you because blood makes me throw up.”

  Thomas snickered and pointed his fork at her. “It’s a rooster. This is France. Get used to it, Princess.”

  She watched in fascination as he proceeded to work his way through the mountain of food on his plate.

  “Where are you putting it?” she asked.

  He looked up. “I’m a growing boy. And since we’ve already used most of the food I brought up here, we better get shopping or we won’t be back before dark.”

  “So?”

  “I could tell you we don’t want to be riding up here in the dark, and it would be the truth. But it’s also true there are people in town who would like to see your family and mine gone for good.”

  “Maybe they don’t like uptight British boys with big ears and hollow legs.” Leila smirked. “But I’m lovable. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  Hours later, she collapsed into a chair and suspiciously eyed the sacks of food they’d hauled into the cavernous kitchen. She hoped none of it was poisoned. All attempts to use her shaky high school French at the little village store had been met with the same stony je ne comprends pas as Thomas’ fluent conversation.

  “Was it something I said?” she asked Thomas when he entered the kitchen after taking care of the horses. By then, Leila had stashed the food and set two cups of tea at one end of a scrubbed pine farmhouse table that could have easily seated twenty. “They acted like I was about to inject bubonic plague into the fountain.”

  “If you just spread the plague, they wouldn’t mind you so much.” Thomas took a cautious sip of the tea, grimaced and dumped both cups down the sink. As he put the kettle on again, he said, “There’s a story they’ve been telling for generations here. Someday your family—with the help of my family—is supposed to use the fountain to end the world. It’s why they call this place Fontaine Hantée. When your aunt died, they had a party because they thought the danger was over.”

  “End the world?” Leila was incredulous. “I’m eighteen years old; I’ve never even hit anyone except for Julie Sarros in seventh grade, and she really needed it because she told everybody my best friend Marnie lip-danced a high school guy.” Which she so did, but still… “How do they think I could end the world?”

  “I don’t know.” Thomas returned with two new cups of tea. “My grandfather thinks it’s part of a bigger war. He talks about Heaven and Hell, but not the kind in the Bible. His theory is they’re more like big corporations competing with each other, and each side is trying to get an advantage. But there are rules or laws they have to follow, so they use other … pawns, I guess … to get what they’re after. Grandfather thinks you’re the current game piece.”

  “Well that’s just crap.” She scowled at her cup. “I’ve never even had a traffic ticket. I’m sure I would have noticed if I was able to destroy the world. Besides, that old story might get you nasty posts on your Facebook wall, maybe the odd brick through the window. But pitchforks in the dead of night? Something else is going on here.”

  Thomas looked dubious but didn’t reply.

  The Rooster from Hell was giving it his all, but he stopped in mid-crow. Her bedroom door swung open as a whisper barely reached her ears, “They’re coming. Hurry and get dressed. Trust me.”

  “You keep telling me to trust you.” Leila opened one eye and struggled up onto her elbow.

  As she opened her mouth, Thomas’ hand covered it. “We don’t have much time. Nice pajamas.”

  She glared at him. “Turn around.” Less than a minute later, she’d traded the shorts and cami she’d worn to bed for jeans and T-shirt and was lacing up her filthy sneakers. About to say he could turn back around, she saw him watching in the bureau mirror. “Nice,” she muttered.

  “Very nice.” Grinning, Thomas tossed over her sweatshirt and the velvet box from the dresser. “Come on.” As they left the house, she turned toward the stable. “Not that way.” Thomas touched her arm. “I let the horses out into the fields. Let’s try to circle back and get to town.”

  “My car is still there.” She changed direction. “We could head for Marseilles and get out of here.”

  “I’m guessing your car isn’t going anywhere again. Our family has a jeep hidden, though. If we’re lucky, it can get us out of here.”

  I should be more scared, Leila thought, but this feels like a movie, and you already know they won’t kill off the cute heroine.

  Twenty minutes later she wasn’t as sure as she listened to Thomas’ quiet swearing over the ruins of the jeep. He peered toward the little parking lot next to the fountain that gave Fontaine Hantée its name. “I don’t suppose you can hot-wire a car?”

  Leila stared. “Seriously?”

  “Well, we’ll just have to hope somebody left their keys in one of those.” Thomas pulled her into the shadows next to him as he crouched behind the wall at the far end of the square. “Wait here.” He crept toward the parking lot.

  Leila stared at the night sky above Provence. Stars she’d never seen back home in Atlanta blazed around an art-deco sliver of moon. She shivered. The afternoon had been warm for early fall, but had chilled with the sunset. A week ago my biggest problem was deferring college after Dad got sick. How did I end up here? She spared the velvet box in her hands a look of flat dislike before stuffing it into her sweatshirt.

  There was still no sign of Thomas as she peered cautiously out from behind the wall. Two glittering little eyes met hers. “Seriously?” she whispered. “Have you ever considered doing your thing at dawn?” The Rooster from Hell braced his feet, puffed out his chest, and threw back his head with a decibel-shattering shriek. The line of lights visible around the chateau wavered and started back down to the village as Thomas joined her again.

  “No luck with the keys.” He was breathing hard and leaned against the wall for a moment to catch his breath. “When I tell you to run, try to get to my house. My family has an escape route through the basement. If you get there … without me … go to the basement and move the cabinet at the end.”

  “This just doesn’t make any sense.” Leila hugged herse
lf and shivered. “I can understand them giving us the cold shoulder, but you act like they’re going to kill us.”

  “Someone around here killed my brother and your aunt.” Thomas cautiously peered out at the approaching lights. “My guess is somehow they’ve persuaded the villagers to come after us, maybe with that old story about ending the world.”

  This was probably a good time to panic, thought Leila, as she realized the flickering group of approaching lights was between them and the Chapels’ house. Maybe instead of the cute heroine, I’m the first teen who gets slashed up, and who doesn’t even get named until way down in the credits …

  She looked across the square with the fountain in the middle and blinked. There were now signs on either side saying METRO. “Where does the Metro go?” she whispered.

  “What Metro?”

  “See those signs by the fountain?”

  “There aren’t any signs there.” He eyed her warily. “We have to try to get to my house.”

  She took the hand he held out but turned to point at the signs, which were now glowing.

  “Signs. I see them.” Thomas rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “How are you doing that?”

  “We don’t have a lot of time to think about it.” Leila sucked in a breath that sounded suspiciously close to a sob. “Let’s go. Trust me.”

  Tugging a reluctant Thomas behind her, she started for the fountain. Shouts rang out behind them, and they ran. Then the fireworks began. Flashes and bangs split the night. Behind her, Thomas stumbled to his knees.

  “Come on!” Leila abandoned caution. She grabbed him around the waist as he lurched to his feet. “Almost there.”

  As they reached the fountain, she realized the signs lit a stairway down. Supporting Thomas, she stumbled toward the steps. Angry voices sounded from outside the fountain, but none approached the stairway as she and Thomas staggered down. Just beyond the bottom step, a turnstile stood open next to a darkened vending machine with a METRO TICKETS sign on top.