July - Chapter Nine

When Jeremy woke, his room was full of dim grey light, and there was a paw pressed into his forehead. Grumbling, he shifted beneath the covers, feeling warm and snug and not really keen on moving. In response, he heard a quiet meow, and this got him to open his eyes.

Mozart was on the pillow beside him, her front paws stretched out — which explained the claws currently pricking his eyebrow — and her expression content. It took a moment for the gears to shift in Jeremy’s head, and he finally realized that Colin was gone, his side of the bed cold.

“Right,” he muttered, trying not to think or feel anything in particular. He rolled over, reaching for his phone, and noticed that it was still raining. It was ten-thirty, and he had two texts from Aggie and a Snapchat from Jo. Well, no point in lingering, then. Grumbling, he found his glasses, got dressed, and went downstairs, Mozart following him like a second shadow.

When he reached the hallway, he realized he could hear the low sounds of the sitting room TV, and his stomach gave a lurch. Was Colin still here?

Ignoring this, Jeremy went straight into the kitchen and busied himself making a pot of coffee and getting Mozart her breakfast. She seemed to be watching him more than usual. “Stop it,” he told her as she snuffled into a fresh pile of wet food. “Seriously.”

The milk was missing. Jeremy stared into the fridge, shifted his weight to his left foot. He could’ve sworn there was a bottle of milk in there the day before. “Whatever,” he muttered, pouring himself a steaming cup of coffee. He could drink it black.

When he finally did poke his head around the sitting room doorway, he was greeted by one hell of a scene. Colin — for it was indeed Colin — had once again wrapped himself in several layers of wet towels and made a weird sort of den on the sofa. He also appeared to be mid-breakfast; the box of Frosties and the bottle of milk were at his feet, and he was in the middle of crunching through a bowl of cereal, frowning at the gardening show that was playing on the TV.

Jeremy cleared his throat; Colin didn’t react. “Morning,” said Jeremy, leaning on the doorframe. Whatever he’d been expecting, it certainly wasn’t this.

Colin grunted, and his frown deepened. Christ, thought Jeremy. At least Colin was still bright red. It was much harder to be frightened of him when he was the color of an angry tomato.

“Did you manage to get some sleep?” Jeremy said.

Colin nodded.

“How many bowls of Frosties have you had?” Jeremy said next, taking a sip of coffee.

“Four.” Colin glanced at him. “Why do you have to be like this in the morning?”

“What, devastatingly charming?” he replied, throwing himself into the armchair.

Colin grumbled something under his breath and went back to eating his cereal.

Ignoring him seemed to be the best bet. Jeremy pulled out his phone. Jo’s Snapchat was of her labrador, Rufus, standing by her pool, dripping wet with a tennis ball in his mouth. The caption read, ‘Rufus: 1, ball: 0.’ He chuckled, then snuck a picture of Colin, who was once again deep into his Frosties, and typed out, “Sun: 1, Colin: 0.”

He had just sent it off to both Jo and Aggie when Colin said, “Yankee.”

Jeremy twitched, almost dropping his phone. “Yeah?”

“Have you got a picture of that cross?”

“Uh, yes?” Bemused, he closed Snapchat and opened his photos. He had taken a picture of it the night before, just in case. “Why?”

“Dunno.” Colin took the phone and zoomed in on the photo of the cross, crunching through another bite of cereal. “Y’know that feeling you get, when you know something but you don’t, like you saw it in a dream?”

Jeremy adjusted his glasses, took a sip of coffee. “Sure.”

“I can’t shake it.” Colin was staring at the cross, the light from the phone gleaming across his features. “It almost feels familiar. Like I’ve seen it before.”

“Have you?”

“If I did, I don’t remember where.”

“So not in any of the churches on the island? Or in the castle?”

“Don’t think so.” Colin turned the screen off, passed the phone back, and stirred his cereal. “I haven’t been to church since I was about ten, actually. Not since—” He cleared his throat with a twitch. “Besides, I only really remember the one we went to. I’ve been to Aggie’s a few times, but I can’t speak to the others.”

“The others? How many churches do you have here?”

“Four or five, I think. Could be more.”

Jeremy let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s a whole lot of church for a small island.”

“Aye. We’re a God-fearing bunch.” Colin slurped up the dregs of his cereal, and Jeremy almost blushed. “You can ask her, though. Aggie. They go to church, a Presbyterian one, almost every week, and she can see if her church has got any relics that look like this one. Just to be sure. They get them on loan from the castle and everything, it’s all very official.”

“Oh, yeah.” Jeremy briefly wondered how Colin knew that, then felt a prickle of shame, because he realized that he hadn’t told Colin about his conversation with Aggie the night before. “Actually, now that you mention it—”

Once Colin heard about what had happened, he scowled. “That’s absolute bullshit,” he said, referring to the accusation made against Aggie’s brother. “As if Winston would ever do that.”

“I know, but people will think what they want to think, if it’s easy to think it.” Jeremy shrugged. “I honestly don’t think it would stand up in court, but it doesn’t matter. In small towns, it’s what people say about you that counts.”

Colin raised an eyebrow. “Got a lot of experience with small towns, have you?”

“Hey, I’ve listened to S-Town. I know things.”

“Sure you do, Yankee.” Then Colin was shaking his head. “I still don’t like it. If they don’t figure out who did it, then the shop owners in town won’t trust anyone anymore. And if they do figure out who did it, people will take sides. It’ll drive everyone mad.”

Jeremy nodded. “And this—” he tapped his phone, referring to the cross, “—will drive my mom mad. She won’t rest until she figures out what it means.”

“I wouldn’t mind some answers, either,” said Colin. “I hope she gets the scans done soon.”

In all the insanity of the past few days, Jeremy had forgotten Colin’s promise to help with translating the mysterious book. “Do you really think you’ll be able to read it?”

Colin shrugged. “Dunno, but I can try.” He rolled his shoulders, almost dislodging two of the towels, then winced. “Have you got that paracetamol?”

Just as Jeremy was passing over the bottle of medicine, his phone began to ring. Aggie again. Frowning, he answered it, Colin watching him with a frown of his own.

“What’s up?”

“Wanted to see how Colin was doing. Didn’t you get my texts?” Aggie’s voice was low, and he could hear the echo of conversation and laughter.

“Shit, sorry. He’s doing okay, I guess.” Colin glared at him and Jeremy hastily turned to look out the window instead. The rain had eased off a bit, and he watched a pair of seagulls coasting above the water. “Where are you?”

“Church just finished. My parents are talking to the pastor.” In the background, someone squealed, “Ooooh, Nora, you must give me the recipe for that hazelnut bread!”

“Sounds fun. Hey,” he said, “I don’t suppose your church has any old relics out on display?”

“Sure, a few tapestries and stuff,” she replied, then seemed to catch on. “They’re in the chapel. I’ll see if there’s anything familiar. How was your slumber party?”

“Delightful,” said Jeremy, and Colin piped up, “What?”

“He’s alive,” said Aggie, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “Does he need anything?”

“Not sure.” Jeremy turned, held out the phone to Colin. “Do you need anything?”

“A new body!” Colin called out, wrapping a towel around his head.

Jeremy brought the phone back to his ear. “Did you catch that?”

“Yes.” Aggie was chuckling now, and he heard the sound of footsteps on stone. “I’ll see if Dr. Frankenstein does house calls, and I’ll let you know if I find anything worthwhile.”

“Right,” said Jeremy, and hung up.

“I’ve had enough of this.” Colin’s voice was muffled from beneath the towels. Suddenly, he tore them away and stood up, and, well, Jesus, there he was in all his glory, wearing a pair of Jeremy’s briefs and nothing else. “You’ve still got my swimming trunks, right?”

“Yeah, they’re up in the bathroom. But why do you—?”

Too late. Colin was already gone and halfway up the stairs. Scowling, Jeremy sat back in his armchair and tried to watch the TV. It was some kind of garden makeover show — “Seems that Bertie is having a spot of trouble with his begonias—”

“Coming?” said Colin from the doorway, and Jeremy did a double-take.

“You’re going swimming?” Colin was wearing his swimsuit, along with another scowl, and a fresh towel was flung over his shoulder.

“Aye.”

“But won’t it be cold out, with the rain—?”

Colin nodded. “Exactly.”

After digging out his windbreaker, Jeremy followed Colin to the beach, Mozart not far behind him. The rain was neither heavy nor light, falling in a half-hearted patter against the surface of his hood. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes as Colin dropped his towel and took off, a bright red splash amongst a landscape of grey, charging into the water and disappearing beneath the surface.

“I believe,” Jeremy said to Mozart, who was sniffing a bit of dried seaweed, “that I’ve had enough. Of all this.”

Mozart ignored this bit of teenage angst and carried on sniffing, now apparently on the tail of a small crab.

At this point, Jeremy didn’t know what to think. He’d hoped that the previous night had been a bit of a watershed, a moment of some kind of resolution between them, and maybe it had, because at least Colin was talking to him. He didn’t seem quite so angry, and he didn’t seem to be pressing the issue. Which, thank fuck, because that was not really a conversation Jeremy wanted to have at the moment.

The way Jeremy saw it, there were only two explanations for what Colin had done — tried to do, Jeremy corrected himself — and neither of them was encouraging.

Either Colin tried for the kiss as a joke, an attempt to spook Jeremy, which was just downright mean. And unnecessary, Jeremy thought grumpily, kicking a stone. If Colin wanted to mess with him, there were plenty of other ways to do so, including but not limited to the various things one could do with a cow pat.

Or, there was the other option — Jeremy’s stomach fluttered at the thought. Colin went for the kiss because he thought Hey, I might like guys, let’s give this a shot, which, five stars, standing ovation, two thumbs waaaay up, but that probably meant it was all experimentation and “let’s just be friends.” Normally, Jeremy would leap at the chance. Jo often referred to him as the “most opportunistic slut” she knew, and he wasn’t exactly known for being picky. Especially since he was in the orchestra. He had to take what he could get.

But it’s different, Jeremy told himself, turning back to the water to see Colin’s head bobbing over a wave. It’s different because you already like him.

That really was the trouble. He’d only known Colin for a few weeks, but his heart was gone, kaput, head-over-heels, full-tilt into… whatever this was. And while Jeremy kind of knew why, he also didn’t. Clichéd or not, he’d never felt so much before, never quite sinking into this deep, unending emotion that he couldn’t name. Attraction, he knew. Lust, he was familiar with. But this?

Because, if Colin was going to kiss him, Jeremy thought that he wanted it to mean something. He didn’t want it to be nothing.

It was helpless, hopeless, and utterly pathetic. Infuriating.

“Pull yourself together,” he mumbled, turning away from the water and back to the sand. Mozart was ten feet away, nose-deep in a rocky burrow that definitely held a little crab hiding for its life. “In six weeks, you’ll be at school, and you won’t have to see him every fucking day. Six weeks,” he repeated, the wind pulling his words away.

A few minutes later, Colin emerged from the water, shaking his hair out like a dog. As he walked back towards the cottage, Jeremy couldn’t help but feel like he was in a Bond movie himself — Colin had no right looking like that, even sunburnt.

“Much better,” Colin called out, grabbing his towel and patting himself dry. His skin flared white where he touched it, then flooded red again. “Any word from Aggie?”

Jeremy checked his phone, but he already knew there was nothing waiting for him. “No.”

Colin nodded, walking over to him. Jeremy fought the urge to step back. “Guess I’d better be on my way, then,” he said, wrapping the towel around his hips. Goosebumps had broken out across his shoulders.

Jeremy swallowed and hated that he was bothered by the idea of Colin leaving. “All right.”

Back inside the house, Colin disappeared again to change — whatever uneasy truce they seemed to have built up was clearly wavering, Jeremy noticed.

The clock said it was close to noon, and he shot his mom a text as he sat at the table, wondering if she had any information yet. He watched as the towels hanging on the stove fluttered in the draft from the back door, and was distantly aware of Mozart jumping onto his lap, purring. This would be the first day in a while that he didn’t have any plans, anything in particular to do, and it felt distinctly off. If only because a small part of him was waiting for Colin to invite him along, to find some excuse to prolong… whatever this was.

“Why?” Jeremy muttered. Normally, he wasn’t the self-punishing type.

Mozart chirped in reply.

“I’m off, then,” came Colin’s voice. He stood in the doorway to the kitchen, not quite looking at Jeremy. He was wearing the spare jeans and t-shirt he normally kept in his truck, and his hair was still tousled and wet. If it weren’t for the sunburn, he’d be pretty devastating, Jeremy thought. “Sorry about the mess, though. If you want, I can stay and—”

“That’s okay,” Jeremy said, even as he realized just how much laundry he had to do. Goddamn towels. “Don’t worry about it.”

Colin hesitated, then nodded. He probably didn’t want to be at the cottage any longer than necessary. He turned, about to leave, and then Jeremy found himself talking.

“Are you going to the ceilidh?”

Colin did a double-take. Jeremy tried not to blush. “The one on Friday, you mean?”

Jeremy nodded.

“Aye.” Colin gave him a funny look. “I’m one of the drummers.”

“Ah.” Jeremy did blush then.

Colin tapped once on the doorframe, then turned away. “See you around, Yankee.”

Two hours later, Jeremy’s phone buzzed and he opened it to see a text from Aggie — ok i think i might have found something. He immediately shut the door to the washing machine, turned it on, and called her.

“Where have you been?”

“Family lunch after church. Only just escaped.” He heard her run up some stairs and shut a door, presumably the one to her bedroom.

“Spill.”

“Okay okay so,” she said. “The pastor walked in right when I was going to take a photo, but there’s this old-as-balls tapestry on the wall, and, quite honestly, I’m shit at history, I’ve got no idea what it’s all about—”

“What does it show?” he asked her, sitting at the kitchen table and waking up his laptop.

“I dunno, a bunch of blokes in all kinds of funny dresses? Looks like it’s the woods by the beach, and some of them are coming off these boats, wearing these dark robes and waving crosses around, I’m guessing they’re the Christians or whatever, and the people on the shore are wearing trousers, thank God, and some of them are on their knees and others have their swords out—”

“Got it,” said Jeremy. He was on the website for the Dunsegall chapter of the Historical Trust, something that his mom had complained about updating just the week before. “Sounds like it’s showing when the clerics and monks came to the island from Ireland and northern England and started converting the natives. Roundabout the tenth century, according to the history.” He frowned then, opening a new tab and pulling up Wikipedia. “Huh. That’s weird.”

“What’s weird?”

“Maybe I’m crazy, but—” He started scrolling through the Wikipedia entry on Scotland, down to the section on medieval history. “Yeah. The conversion date for this island is way late, compared to the rest of the country. The Romans brought Christianity to Britain by the fourth century, and Christianization was well underway in Scotland by the sixth. Saint Columba and all that good stuff.”

Aggie hummed. “Well, we are a small spit of shit caught in the ass-cheeks of this great British nation. Maybe it took them a while to find us.”

Jeremy snorted. “Believe me, if medieval Irish clerics wanted to find you, they’d find you. Besides, it’s not like we’re in the Outer Hebrides or something. You can see this place from Kintyre, even in bad weather.”

“Hark at him, all brushed-up on his geography. Does it matter?”

“Uh, I would think so.” Jeremy clicked back and forth between the tabs, checking to make sure he hadn’t missed something. But no, there it was, plain as day in the entry that his mom had written herself on the Trust’s website. Conversion began on the island in the mid-tenth century, perhaps — though not likely — earlier, according to the available written and material sources. “But what drew your eye to the tapestry? Sounds like a harmless old rug.”

“That’s what I thought. Then I noticed that the bottom corner was behind this huge brass carving of Mary — I’m talking massive, here — I couldn’t see if there was anything behind it, so I moved the carving—”

Jeremy pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course Aggie gave zero fucks about touching—

“—and lo and behold! A great big tear — the whole corner’s completely ripped off. Pretty violently, too, by the looks of it.”

“Oh, damn. Okay. Could you tell what was there—?”

“Before they tore it? Hard to say. Looked like a bit of vine curling up towards the island, and whatever was there was definitely facing the boats, not coming off the boats with the monks.”

“Weird.” Because there was no other word for it. “Wish you’d gotten a photo.”

Aggie groaned. “I know. Father Andrews was being so nosy.”

“Right,” said Jeremy, privately wondering if the interruption had been a bit more purposeful instead of accidental.

“Anyway, how’s Col? Did he go home?”

Jeremy’s stomach lurched. “Yeah, a few hours ago,” he said, gearing up for what he was sure was coming—

“Did you talk to him?”

“Yes,” he lied, then winced. “Sort of. Yes.”

An ominous silence echoed on the line.

“Explain,” Aggie eventually said, with the air of someone who was very put-upon.

Jeremy did, as best he could without telling her everything. “I think he’s just in a bad mood, with the sunburn,” he finished.

Aggie sighed. “Or because you’re a prat. And he’s a prat. You’re both prats.”

Jeremy felt a jolt of guilt. He was the new one in this friend group, and he was messing it all up. Well, he reminded himself, you’re not the one who tried to kiss him. “I agree with you there.”

“Just sort it out, Jeremy. Before the ceilidh, if you can.”

“I will,” he agreed, not quite knowing what he had just signed himself up for. “You didn’t tell me Colin was playing in the band.”

Aggie gave a very elegant snort. “I thought that was a given. He’s too good of a drummer, and he never dances.”

“Colin? Not dancing? What a surprise.” Not that Jeremy was one to talk. Well, except for that one very memorable evening after a few too many ciders…

“I plan on making him,” said Aggie.

“Really?” Jeremy couldn’t hold back a grin. “How long have you been trying to do that?”

Aggie sniffed. “Since we were about twelve. It’s not important.” Then, “Make sure you tell us what your mum finds out, yeah?”

He nodded, to himself as much as to anyone else. “Of course I will.”

“Let’s all meet at the shop tomorrow, three o’clock. I’ll text Colin.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Jeremy!” came his mom’s call, followed by the slam of the front door “Your mother is an absolute genius.”

Jeremy snorted, stepping into the kitchen doorway. “I already knew that.”

Rochelle looked up at him from where she was bent over in the hall, simultaneously untying her boots and shucking her windbreaker. Her grin was blinding. “Oh, hush. Did you eat?”

He nodded. It was past nine o’clock, and she’d texted him at six, telling him he was in charge of dinner. “Made some gumbo. I used up all the chicken, hope that’s okay.”

“Of course.” Finally down to her jeans and sweater, she hopped up, briefcase in hand. Seeing her now, in the warm, bright light of the cottage, Jeremy noticed that she was alive with energy, even though she’d been working since early that morning. “Let me grab a bowl, and you can fill me in.”

Five minutes later, she paused mid-spoonful to look at him, her gaze searching. “So Colin left around lunch?”

“Yup.” Jeremy took a sip of his tea. Mozart was curled up on his lap, her eyes shut.

Rochelle hummed. “And his sunburn was better?”

“A little, I guess.”

“Interesting idea, going into the ocean.” She reached for the dish of rice, scooping some into her bowl. “I would’ve thought the salt would make his skin hurt.”

Jeremy shrugged. “Not while he was still here.”

“Have you heard from him, since he went home?”

He turned his phone screen-side down onto the table. “No,” he said, trying to sound as unbothered as possible.

“Tch.” Rochelle shook her head. “Text him.”

He swallowed, his heart skipping a beat. “Mom, I don’t think—”

She stared at him, unnerved. “What’s the big deal? It’s just a text. Tell him I’m the one who’s asking, if it makes you feel better.”

“Fine,” he grumbled, unlocking his phone and pulling up his conversation with Colin. It was weird, reading the last texts they’d exchanged, on the morning of the Definitely-Not-A-Kiss. That morning felt like another world, another reality, where all they had to worry about was a weird book and Jeremy not drowning in Aggie’s pool. Hey, he typed out, my mom wants to know how ur doing.

“There. Now will you tell me what you found?”

“Of course, my dear.” Her smile was quick, cheeky. “Where should I start?”

“The cross,” Jeremy said. “I’m sure you opened an entire can of worms, but for now, I’m only interested in the one worm.”

She nodded, slurping up some more gumbo. “I had to email Doug — you remember Doug, does Artifacts and Restoration for the Smithsonian? — because I honestly had no idea what to make of the thing. He looked at all the images and gave me a call, made me put it under a microscope and look at all these cracks and things. So, the cross and the dragon are both made out of silver, but not the same piece of metal. The cross was made first, then the dragon was made and welded on to it. Beautiful dragon, too, someone really knew what they were doing. The cross proper dates to the late tenth century, and the dragon dates to a few hundred years later, say the mid-eleventh to mid-twelfth century?”

“Weird. What does that mean?”

Rochelle shrugged. “Doug thinks the cross was repurposed. Technically speaking, the artisanry of the dragon and the precise technique used to make it are miles ahead of the workmanship used on the cross. The cross itself is simple, rudimentary — practically a factory model, if you want to think of it that way. By comparison, the dragon is a labor of love.”

“So someone already had the cross, then decided they wanted a huge dragon plastered onto it, so they took it to a really fantastic metal-worker and—?”

“Something like that, yes.”

“But why?” At Rochelle’s expression, Jeremy added, “Sorry — if you knew you wanted to add a dragon, why wait a few hundred years?”

“Maybe you felt like you were in danger, or being watched,” she said, her eyes sparkling.

“Oh.” Jeremy sank against the back of his chair. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” She grinned widely, then broke into song: “Spooky, scary—”

“—heretics—”

“—send shivers down your spine—”

Jeremy had to laugh. “So where did the cross come from?”

“Well, Christian missionaries came to the island in—”

“Mid-tenth,” he said, nodding. “I know.”

Rochelle stared at him, raised an eyebrow. “How do you—?”

“I’ll tell you in a moment. But go on.”

“All right,” she said, but she seemed unconvinced. “My guess is that the cross came from Britain with the missionaries — maybe it was given to the first Catholic parish established on the island, maybe it was a gift to the new priest. It isn’t made of wood, so it’s really meant to last, and there weren’t any Christians here prior to the tenth century, so it had to come from somewhere outside of the island. But as to how it got into the hands of these dragon-Christians — which is what I’m calling them for now, by the way — that’s anybody’s guess.”

“Dragon-Christians,” Jeremy repeated, hating it and loving it at the same time. “Maybe they had a guy on the inside. Someone who worked for the Church.”

Rochelle shrugged. “Almost anything is possible. Most historians from that time period like to spin the same yarn, claiming that missions and large-scale conversions fit roughly the same blueprint all across Britain, but that’s not necessarily the case. Besides, there aren’t that many sources with lots of details about what happened here in the tenth century, and even if we did have an exact timeline, there’s no guarantee that what the historians claim is actually indicative of the truth.”

“Good grief.” Jeremy dragged his hands through his hair. “I can’t believe you actually chose to study this nonsense.”

She laughed. “Isn’t it great?”

“But it matches the book,” he said. “The frontplate.”

“I know.” Rochelle polished off her food. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Both things turning up in the same week.”

“Or it’s fate. The universe is pulling us along on a string.”

“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes. “What a terrible idea.”

Jeremy’s phone buzzed, and he immediately blushed. He unlocked it and opened Colin’s reply — Yea, i’m alright. painkillers help. tell ur mum thx again.

“He’s fine,” Jeremy said, trying to ignore how relieved he felt. Ok good, he typed out, almost faster than he could think, do u need help w farm chores tomorrow? “And he says thanks.”

His mom smiled in an endearing sort of way. “What a sweet boy. Are you going around with him tomorrow?”

“Don’t know yet.”

“Well, I’ve got the scans ready and printed for him. I thought about just doing them digitally and emailing them to him, but I’m not sure I want a record of them in the castle’s server yet.”

“Someone’s being paranoid,” Jeremy chided her. “Where did you save them, then?”

Rochelle whipped out a little USB and winked. “Can’t be too careful.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll make sure he gets the pages.”

“Good.” She fixed herself another bowl of rice. “Now, what were you doing brushing up on the island’s history?”

Jeremy told her about what Aggie had found at the church, and Rochelle listened intently. “I think I know the tapestry she’s talking about,” she said. “I haven’t seen it myself, but it came up in the archives when I was doing my sweep of the artifacts out on loan. I didn’t realize that the missing portion had been torn away like that.”

“We don’t even know if it has anything to do with the cross or the book,” Jeremy said. “She just brought it up because it was weird.”

“Weird is good, Jer. Besides, I think we should have all our eyes and ears open, right now.” She paused, musing. “I feel like the island is trying to tell us something, and we should listen.”

Jeremy grinned. “Mom! That’s very romantic of you.”

“Shush.” She flicked a hunk of rice at him.

“We can go and see the tapestry tomorrow, I bet,” said Jeremy, privately hoping that Aggie could duck away from the shop for a few hours. “Maybe even get a photo, if we can keep that pastor from sneaking in.”

Rochelle shrugged. “Go for it. Might as well, since I’ve only got the one photograph, and it’s not a very good one. The more information we can gather, the better.”

“I agree. But I meant to ask—”

“Yes?”

“What’s the deal with the conversion timeline for this island? Why is it so much later than the rest of the country, even the islands around us?”

“You don’t miss a thing, do you?” His mom seemed to sober up, then she nodded. “You’ve actually hit upon one of the most famous mysteries of medieval Britain, hon. Modern historians have been debating the answer to that question for as long as they’ve been able to, because as of right now, we don’t have an explanation. The Isle of Rowe is an enigma, an exception to the rule, and nobody knows why. People have their theories, of course, but some of them are way too far-fetched, in my opinion. Everyone keeps waiting for a source that will clear the air, for the missing piece to click into place.”

“Do you think that’ll happen?” he said. Mozart was purring, the sound a low thrum beneath their conversation.

She almost smiled. “Of course I think that, because I have to. Cynical as we are, historians always have to believe that there’s something else waiting to be discovered, to be learned, to be taught. Otherwise, your outlook on things can get pretty bleak.”

Jeremy nodded. “So for now, it’s just an oddity?”

“Yup. But who knows?” Rochelle grinned properly. “Maybe the secret is hidden in that book.”

He snorted. “Come on, you know we can’t be that lucky. But now, on to the real question — what were you doing out with Angus yesterday?”

His mom immediately dropped her gaze and cleared her throat, and Jeremy thrilled. It wasn’t often he got to see her look so uncomfortable. “Nothing, he just took me on a walk—”

“A walk. A walk where?”

“Up the cliffs, over on the eastern side of the island. The view is really—”

“For the whole day?”

He could’ve sworn she was blushing. “Well, he brought a picnic—”

“A picnic?” Jeremy smirked at her and batted his eyelashes. “What a lucky girl you are.”

“Stop it,” she hissed, thwacking him with her spoon. “I’m not talking about this any more.”

“It’s okay, you know.”

Rochelle looked at him, bemused and… hopeful? “What do you mean?”

“If you want to date him. It’s fine.” Jeremy fought the urge to blush. God, this was not where he’d seen the evening going. “I don’t mind. And if he ever wants to, you know, stay the night—”

“Oh my God, Jeremy.” Rochelle buried her face in her arms. “Please stop.”

“I’m serious,” he said, his cheeks scarlet now. “It’s fine.”

A few moments went past before she peeked up at him. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. No going back now. “Yeah. I just don’t want to hear anything. Not even breathing. You’re going to soundproof your entire room.”

Rochelle sighed and straightened up, reaching out and taking his hand in hers. She squeezed it, then kissed it. “What did I do to deserve such a sweet son?”

Jeremy cracked a grin. “Come on, I’m not that sweet.”

“Yeah,” she chuckled, “you were sort of a terror those last few weeks in D.C.”

“And I can’t even get my friend to text me back,” he snarked, and a weird, cool tendril snaked through his middle. Suddenly, it didn’t feel like a joke.

His mom was watching him. “Oh, hon,” she said, her voice soft. She reached out and brushed a curl from his forehead. “Did something happen?”

He looked back at her, and his throat clogged with the sudden need to tell someone, but what was there to tell? Because, really, it was simple — a straight boy had tried to kiss him and he’d panicked. But, another voice in his head piped up, you and I both know it’s never that simple.

“No,” Jeremy said, his voice thick and low. “Nothing happened.”And, he guessed, that was the truth.