Drink Deep - Chloe Neill [47]
Grubby clothes or not, he was undeniably gorgeous. He was tall and well-built, with short wavy hair and a day’s worth of stubble along his square jaw. He had long, dark brows and deep-set eyes, and curvy lips above a dimpled chin.
When he disappeared through a door on the opposite side of the room, I looked back at Lorelei. She smiled knowingly.
“That, of course, is Ian. We’ve been married for four years. He knew me before I became siren, so he’s immune to the songs. He was thoughtful enough to follow me out here to the middle of godforsaken nowhere. I try to accept my lot gracefully.”
As soon as she’d gotten the words out, she put her hands on her forehead and bent over, clearly in pain. The woman who’d answered the door hustled into the room, muttering words in Spanish. She leaned beside Lorelei and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“Be well, niña,” she said, and then whispered more words I couldn’t understand.
I stood up, taking the hint. “Thank you for your time. I don’t want to bother you anymore.”
“Merit.” I glanced back. Lorelei had lifted her head again, tear tracks visible on her cheeks. “If this doesn’t get fixed soon, it will be too late.”
I promised her I’d do my best . . . and then I hoped I’d made a promise I could keep.
I let myself out and walked back around the house to the path. Ian was outside again as well, and the air was thick with the scent of fresh resin.
Axe in hand, he stood in front of an upturned log. A second log stood vertically atop it. He pulled the axe over his head, muscles rippling, then heaved the axe down. The log split cleanly, its twin halves falling to the ground. Ian put another log onto the stump, then glanced up. His breath was foggy in the chill.
“You’re here about the lake?” he asked, wiping sweat from his brow.
“I am.”
“This isn’t her fault, you know. None of it. She carries the burden for someone else, and now she’s sick—or worse—because of that burden.”
He swung his axe up again, then cleaved the second log in two.
“I didn’t accuse her of anything,” I said. “I’m just trying to figure out what happened.”
He stood up another log. “Then figure it out. And if you don’t, we’ll be here when the world ends.”
With no good response to that, I made my way back to the helicopter.
CHAPTER SEVEN
PARADIGM SHIFT(ER)
The ride back was miserable. The wind had picked up, and we were tossed around with enough force that the pilot’s hands were white-knuckled around her controls. She spent half the trip praying under her breath.
I’m pretty sure I was green when we reached the helipad again. I made it to my car without incident, but sat in the driver’s seat for a few minutes, unwilling to brave the drive home until I was sure I wasn’t going to ruin the upholstery. The last thing a boxy, twenty-year-old Volvo needed was the stench of airsickness.
While I had a moment, I checked my phone. I’d missed a call from Jonah, and Kelley had left a voice mail checking in. I did my duty and called her back first.
She answered the phone with a squeal. “You are amazing!”
“I’m—what now?”
“You! The lake! I don’t know how you did it, but you are a miracle worker!”
I had to shake my head to catch up. “Kelley, I just got back to the city, and I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Merit, you did it! The lake’s back to normal. Just all of a sudden, boom, and the water’s clear again and the waves are flowing, just like nothing happened. I don’t know what you told Lorelei, but it totally worked. It mattered, Merit. You mattered. Do you know how much this helps the House? The protestors have actually gone home tonight. This might get the GP off our back completely.”
I’d only been out of the helicopter for fifteen or twenty minutes, tops, and the lake hadn’t looked any different from the sky or when we landed. As much as I appreciated the praise and the possibility that I was giving the House room to breathe,