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I’m twenty-five, so my mom could’ve been around back then. Maybe she wanted some time out before she got pregnant or had me? It will be a bonus if Craig’s friends worked here at the same time as my mom. “Do you think your friends would mind if I reached out to them once I leave here? I’m a sucker for history, and my librarian curiosity is piqued by this place.”
“I’ll ask, but I’m sure they’ll be fine with it,” Craig says. “Though Cora would be an excellent source of knowledge on Arcania’s history.”
“Just don’t mention Ava and you’ll be fine,” Demi adds, oblivious to my stiffening beside her as a trickle of something otherworldly tiptoes down my spine.
Demi pronounced it Ay-va when Mom’s name, despite being spelled Ava, was sounded out as Ar-va, yet I’m still freaked. I don’t believe in coincidences. I’m too practical for that.
“Who’s Ava?” I ask, suspecting the answer before either of them respond.
“Cora’s daughter that died,” Craig says. “Apparently Cora goes crazy if you mention her.”
I manage to say, “I won’t,” while my mind reels from the implications of this.
What are the odds of my mom and Cora’s daughter sharing a name, both connected to this place?
Now, more than ever, I need to understand my mom’s link to Arcania.
Chapter12
Cora
THEN
The orchards are oddly desertedas Harlan gives me the grand tour. I see a few workers taking a lunch break in the distance, sitting on wrought-iron benches, their faces tilted to the sun like they don’t have a care in the world.
What I wouldn’t give to feel like that.
My fear of being pawed—or worse—by one of Mom’s boyfriends may have abated, but I’m still worried that I can lose this job at any moment and I’ll be back at square one, homeless and jobless. I’ve never felt carefree but I hope with some hard work and careful saving, I’ll be able to support myself and have some extra for when I need it.
“We’re the largest producer of organic fruit and vegetables in all of North Carolina,” Harlan says, gesturing to the trees and neat rows of plants around us. “Tomatoes, sweet bell peppers, radishes, zucchini, eggplant, beets, turnips, squash, watermelon, and sweet potatoes. You name it, we supply it.”
“Impressive,” I say, not really caring about the local produce and more interested in discovering why this wealthy, worldly guy likes me.
I’m not an idiot. I’m pretty enough—blonde hair, blue eyes, straight teeth, decent body—but someone like Harlan could have his pick of women. And considering how rich he is, I’m pretty sure Helga and Magnus would have him earmarked to marry an equally wealthy socialite in the area.
Which leaves my first assumption—he thinks he can toy with the hired help, then discard me—as being the most accurate. But I can’t ignore the frisson of excitement that zaps me whenever our hands accidentally brush as we walk. It’s the first time I’ve been remotely attracted to a guy like him, and it’s heady stuff for a girl like me.
“But that’s not the only thing we’re famous for.” He touches me on the arm, the briefest brush of his fingertips, and I feel the sizzle all the way to my toes. “Remember when I mentioned the shipwreck not far off the coast here and the treasure?”
“Yeah, and I already told you I’m too old for fairytales.”
His smile makes my stomach flip. “There are a lot of myths that surround Arcania, but the sunken treasure is real. There’s a gold compass engraved with our emblem, thevegvisir, that is priceless. Collectors from all around the world would kill to get their hands on it.”
I don’t care about some lost artifact, but Harlan’s eyes are glowing with fervor and he’s gorgeous when he’s passionate.
“Tell me more. Like what’s avegvisir,for example.”
“It’s a Viking compass. You would’ve seen it on the bedding and linen in your room. Embossed into the soap. On everything. It’s the symbol of finding your way and supposedly has magical powers. My forefathers revered it enough to ensure everything here is tied to it.”
He hesitates and oddly, he’s staring at the ground, his foot, more precisely.
“What’s wrong?”
His gaze sweeps my face like he’s searching for answers, and before I can call him on his strange behavior, he rests a hand on my shoulder and removes his shoe and sock with the other.
“Sorry for leaning on you. My balance is hopeless,” he says, raising his bare foot so I can see the sole, where the emblem he’s been raving about is tattooed in turquoise ink on his heel. “I meant it when I said everything in Arcania is bound by this symbol.”
I wince. “Did that hurt? I know the sole is one of the toughest parts of the body, but surely it’s sensitive too?”
