Intertwine Read Free Page A

partially succeeded. James never exceeded his income, never drank too much, never visited houses of ill-repute. His father’s lessons on responsibility and his mother’s militant insistence on propriety had ensured that much.
    James sighed. Even his personal behavior was devoid of excitement. How could everything about him be so boring? Fate had given him a longing for adventure but not an ounce of rebellion.
    Ironic that.
    Lightning cracked again, skittering across the sky, causing the hairs on his arm to suddenly stand on end. The night vibrated with electricity. James could feel the energy eddying around him, woven into the howling wind, pulsing through the fury.
    The storm was edgy and laden. Jittery. Unbidden, James shivered. More of a shudder actually. Though not a superstitious man, storms like this created legends. It was easy to hear a beast’s growl in the thunder, to feel angry wraiths in the tugging wind.
    Shaking such maudlin thoughts from his brain, James pulled his sodden collar tighter around his neck. Truly, nothing would happen to him. Nothing ever did. He just needed to focus on staying on the sloppy road. All would be well.
    As he rode deeper into the inky night, James found himself unwittingly repeating the refrain, the screeching tempest swirling around him.
    Nothing will happen. All will be well.

Chapter 2

    On the tarmac at Heathrow Airport
    One week before Beltane
    April 22, 2012
     
    S o are you heading immediately out of town?” Next to Emme, the man with a cultured British accent smiled, as the plane slowly taxied after landing.
    Emme sighed inwardly. He was undeniably yummy with kind eyes and wonderfully mussed hair. And, heaven knew, she had such a weakness for disheveled hair—rumpled locks that suggested a certain devil-may-care attitude.
    But despite chatting with him for hours over the Atlantic, she couldn’t summon a glimmer of attraction. Not a single spark. Just the typical emptiness.
    Why couldn’t she ever feel that flare of something more? For about the millionth time, Emme wondered if something inside her was irreparably broken.
    He took her silence for encouragement and continued, “Because if you’re not, I’d love to show you around.”
    Emme debated. She could imagine how it would go. She and Mr. Yummy Hair would hang out. Chat. Get to know each other. She would like him in a generally brother-ish, non-sparky sort of way. He would like her in a decidedly non-brotherly, let’s-get-sparking sort of way.
    This would lead to The Talk where she would tell him about F and the locket. At which point, Mr. Yummy Hair would stare at her with crazy eyes.
    As in you-are-totally-crazy eyes.
    Then things would get uncomfortable. And probably awkward.
    “Ah, thanks for the offer,” said Emme, “but I’m good. As I mentioned, my dad is British and I spent summers with my grandma growing up. So London is as familiar as home. Besides, I’m going straight west to the town of Marfield, itching to get started on my sabbatical research. The effects of the Industrial Revolution on woman and children in agricultural Britain, remember? But seriously, thank you.” Emme hoped that was letting him down kindly. Why delay the inevitable? She was never one to put off a problem.
    “Oh, of course. I’d forgot you mentioned that.”
    Emme had tried to feel some attraction to him. Really she had. Somewhere between Greenland and Iceland, she had even asked him The Question. She had found it to be a good way to tell if there might be a spark. Or even a flicker. A glint of something more.
    “So what have you done to prepare for the zombie apocalypse?” Emme had asked, keeping her face a still mask. She found you had to ask The Question without a trace of irony. Would Mr. Yummy Hair get it?
    He stared at her for a moment. Blinked. “Uh . . . ,” he started. Blinked again. “Can’t say I’ve given it much thought. You don’t seem like the type to be into things like that.”
    Utter fail.
    He