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I kind of want to ask Marco what he’s thinking as we walk up the stone drive to the house.
Kind of.
But not really, because I’m currently refusing to speak to him until otherwise indicated.
That, of course, and I don’t really want to be here so…
Silence dominates our conversation.
The house isn’t huge. On the outside, it looks like a lot of other old houses in Ireland. Stone walls covered in whitewash, two stories and several wings, and the type of old-fashioned peaked roof that has to have a specialist come in to repair. It’s bigger than some manor houses around the area, built a little more like a castle than just a house, but it’s not exactly out of the ordinary.
Except for the roses.
The entire structure is nearly covered in climbing roses, and a garden of roses winds around it for what feels like a mile. Even now, in the early part of the year, walking up to it is impressive. There aren’t many in bloom right now, except for some of the smaller, hardier winter ones, but in the summer the whole thing is basically covered in blooms.
Behind me, Marco makes a noise.
I turn. “What.”
“That is an insane amount of roses.”
I could tell him that it’s how I got my name. My mother was so impressed by being brought back here, before she knew what my father was, that she named me for the roses on the house. There’s always been a girl in the family who bears the name of the roses.
My father was thrilled, of course, when I could take that one.
And furious when she stole me away and hid me from him.
Furious enough that he basically burned things down to find me again… and my mom hasn't’ been seen since.
The thought makes anger burn through me, so instead of responding to Marco I turn on my heel and march to the front door. Unfortunately, that means that I'm once again face-to-face with the manor house.
Ugh.
It really should be gorgeous. The roses and the stone walls, with whatever chemical is on them to make them white, are a shocking contrast. It makes the vines of the roses almost look black, and without the brilliant blooms, the whole effect is kind of like a goth house. Behind the house, I can just see the edge of the pond that comes with the property. I know that ifI keep walking in that direction, I'll come across a stable where my father kept all his prized horses.
Further on, I'd find myself on a path to the sea. The Atlantic Ocean is brutal on this side of Ireland, nothing like the deep (if narrow) Irish channel. On this side of the country, the sea stretches like an endless line on the horizon.
I used to think that I could see New York, if I tried hard enough.
Until Kieran almost drowned me by shoving me down the cliffs into the freezing ocean below. He disavowed me of that belief, by pointing out how stupid I was to think that you can see America from Ireland.
Most of my memories of this beautiful place are, in fact, completely ruined by Kieran.
I wish the dread that’s threading through me at the thought of seeing his twin wasn’t so total. Liam technically never did any of those things to me that Kieran did.
Technically.
Still, it’s insanely hard to look someone wearing the same face as the one that comes straight from your nightmares in the eyes, and believe that he won’t hurt you.
I know it bothers Liam. It’s probably the only reason that he maintains our little spying arrangement. I’m sure if I just stopped giving him information, he wouldn’t ask why.
But, he seems to use it to his advantage.
I’m still not sure why I do it. Family loyalty. Terror of my brother's ghost.
Mostly, just a connection to keep to my family, in case he hears anything about my mother that I wouldn’t hear through Interpol, I guess.
This is all so fucked up.