She flashed me a shy smile that made Captain Beefcake glower.
I wonder what you’re searching for. I didn’t know if her verbal diarrhea would make her a good candidate for gentle interrogation, or if the answers would get lost in the gush, so to speak. Maybe it didn’t matter why people were here. Maybe that was none of my beeswax. But inquisitiveness was a trait I’d never grown out of.
I opened my mouth to ask, when a soft scuffling sound distracted me, followed by a groan and the scrape of tumbling rocks. I turned to see a pair of enormous hands grip the edge of the cliff. A moment later, a huge African dude pulled himself over the lip and stood to his full height. If I’d thought Luke was tall, this guy made him look like a midget. The man wore desert camouflage trousers and a black T-shirt. A red military cap topped his head, at an angle.
He eyed us suspiciously and removed the hat to wipe his brow. “Why are you all here?” His accent was rich and deep, flavored with Nigerian pride.
“Same as you, I’d guess,” I replied.
“I haven’t seen so many before.” He pushed his hat into his pocket. “I have come every day, waiting for them doors to open. Not a soul been here, ‘cept that woman over there. She been waiting as long as me, to get in them doors.” He pointed to Blanche.
“You’ve been coming every day?” Melody sounded stunned.
“I been trying, though I’ve not had the right spells till now. I seen a couple more trying too, but they didn’t have the right spells neither. I had to bribe me some rogue magicals to give me the right ones, to get past this here protective shield. Looks like I came just in time.” A sudden smile broke out on his face, startling in its abruptness.
“I’m Finch.” I held out my hand, and he shook it firmly.
“I am Mr. Abara,” he replied.
I smiled. “No first name?”
“No, it is Mr. Abara.” He peered at me curiously. “No second name?”
“No, just Finch.” Man, he got me there. It seemed I wasn’t the only one playing cloak and dagger. Melody and Luke had their secretive glances, Mr. Abara refused to give up his first name, I wouldn’t tell my last name, and Blanche was… well, Blanche.
“I’m Melody Winchester, and this is Luke Prescott—he’s watching over me while I’m here.” She walked over and shook hands with Mr. Abara, Luke and Blanche following suit.
“Winchesta? As in, the rifle?” Mr. Abara’s eyes darkened for a moment.
She nodded. “Yes, and the family who built the famous Winchester house.”
“I don’t care for gons,” Mr. Abara said, his smile gone. “I don’t care for weapons of any kind.”
“Oh, neither do I, Mr. Abara.” Melody looked up at him earnestly. “I wish my family had a legacy that had nothing to do with guns, but we don’t get to choose where we come from, I suppose. That’s why my ancestor Sarah Winchester built the Winchester house, as a way of appeasing the spirits of those killed by the Winchester rifle. They swarm the place and call it home now.”
Mr. Abara smiled again. “Hmm… I didn’t know that. At least your family is doing something about it, eh?”
“That’s how I like to think of it,” Melody replied warmly.
“So, you’re here to learn map-making?” All of this historical chatter interested me, but I needed to get to the root of why everyone was here. They all seemed to have a purpose, which meant I was the only one with no idea what to expect.
Mr. Abara nodded. “I am. Same as everyone here, I expect.”
“And what is it you want to—” A sound made me stop short. A shrub to the side of the monastery moved.
A figure emerged from the foliage, twigs and leaves stuck in his mane of blond, shaggy hair. He had a red bandana tied around his forehead, giving him the look of a dime-store Axl Rose. Lanky, grimy, and hazy-eyed, he could have easily wandered into that bush after a heavy night, not knowing where the hell he was. His dirty, ripped jeans were covered in slogan badges, like “God Save the Queen,” the smiley Nirvana face, and of course, the jagged “A” of a wannabe anarchist. His threadbare T-shirt read “Newquay—Life’s a Beach,” topping off the punky vibes I picked up from him.
“Wow, how long have I been out?” He ran a hand through his long hair. His accent was distinctly British. “This turned into quite the gathering.”
I didn’t know if it was his demeanor, or that Davin-esque accent, but he instantly rubbed me the wrong way.
“Have you been there this whole time?” Blanche’s jaw dropped.
He shrugged. “I’ve been here and there, wandering the island, trying to keep myself occupied. This place inspired me to write a stream-of-consciousness piece, sort of Kerouacian, if you want a read. It’s just gorgeous here, isn’t it? So peaceful, and the water is just beaut. Makes me wish I had my board, to paddle out and lay awhile, you know?”
Please, spare us the open mic night.
“When did you get here?” Blanche demanded, clearly freaked that someone else had been creeping around the entire time she’d been here.
“I came for last month’s entrance trials, but I failed miserably, so I’ve been hanging around since then, taking in the scenery,” he replied. “I’m Oliver Huntington-Shaw, by the way. Who are you fine people? I’ve got to say, it’s nice to see new faces. Solitude can be great for the soul, but it can be harmful if it edges into loneliness, you get what I’m saying?”
“Did you say, ‘entrance trials’?” I ignored the rest of what he said, which was probably for the best. He’d likely never read a Jack Kerouac novel in his life. He’d probably never listened to Nirvana, or done anything vaguely anarchic, either. He’d gone from probable punk rocker to wannabe hipster in the space of a single meeting.
He nodded. “Of course, mate. You don’t get in if you don’t pass. I bet they used to take anyone, but that’s society for you—always pitting us against each other in the endless competition that is life.”
Entrance trials? Ah, crap…
Three
Finch
“When do these entrance trials start?” I felt more agitated by the second.
Oliver smiled. “Mate, have you been out in the sun too long or something? It’s going down tonight, my man. That’s if I’ve got my dates right. It’s going to be a full moon party, and we’re all invited!”
“A full moon?” I had no idea what day it was, let alone where we were in the moon’s cycle.
“Who is this guy?” Oliver snorted. “Is he with one of you?”
I glanced around the gathered group, finding them giving me a weird look. Don’t you put seeds of doubt in their heads, pal. I’d had enough trouble with the last Brit I’d encountered. I didn’t need more reason to dislike this one, too. He’d already given me plenty.
“No, he came alone,” Blanche replied. “You are here to map-make, aren’t you?”
“Of course, I just don’t have all the details. It was sort of a last-minute decision.” I gave it my best nonchalance. I wasn’t totally lying. It had been last-minute, just not really my decision.