Revived by Sarah Noffke

Author:Sarah Noffke [Noffke, Sarah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: One-Twenty-Six Press
Published: 2014-11-20T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“Maybe we should have brought something.” Joseph says, staring at Trey’s door like it’s made of crystal.

“What, like apple cider?” I ask.

“I dunno.” He raps at the door three times.

“I brought attitude. Will that do?”

Joseph narrows his eyes. “Try and behave yourself.”

“I’ll do no such thing. If you don’t like it then I’ll be leaving.” Seizing my golden opportunity I whip around and trot back down the Head Official’s rooming hallway, which was left open for us.

“Not so fast,” Joseph sings, jerking me by the wrist.

“Everything all right?” Trey asks from the open door.

Joseph’s face flushes red. “Yeah, Roya was just gonna run back and get the apple cider she forgot.”

“Although a thoughtful gesture, it’s not necessary,” Trey says to me, a cynical surprise on his face.

“Then I won’t worry about fetching the hash brownies Joseph made either,” I say, striding past my brother and into Trey’s quarters.

“What?!” Joseph startles behind me. “I made no such thing.”

“Well, he was going to, but he used up all the ingredients,” I say, swiveling my head over my shoulder in time to catch the look of humiliation on Joseph’s face.

Trey shakes his head, amusement hemming his turquoise eyes. “I know when she lies too, don’t worry,” he says, giving Joseph a consoling pat on the back.

What’s that supposed to mean? Have I lied to Trey? Probably.

I turn back around, busying myself, studying Trey’s living quarters, which are as expansive as a penthouse apartment. The hallway spills out into an oval-shaped living area complete with an oversized dark brown leather sofa, a six-candlestick chandelier wrapped in rope, curved bookshelves that line every single wall, and two doorways on either side of the room. Vintage books and colorful objects fill the shelves. My feet bring me to the nearest bookcase, my fingertips about to clutch an ancient copy of The Merchant of Venice.

“How about you follow me in here?” Trey says behind me.

Sliding my finger down the spine of the book, I turn, disappointed. “Sure.”

He strolls through one of the doorways and into a dining area, dimly lit by a few wall sconces. A large glass tabletop sits on a stunted column. Draped across it is a chain like one that might be used on a Navy ship. Each link is as large as my head. The far wall is adorned with a single tapestry. Woven into the shell-colored linen is a neat symmetrical pattern in a rich shade of bark brown.

“It’s an endless knot,” Trey says, spying what drew in my attention. He appears to be interested in watching my reactions to the various accoutrements embellishing his living space. “In Tibetan Buddhism it symbolizes eternal love since it has no beginning and no end.”

“You said before you were raised by Tibetan monks,” I say, remembering the disclosure when he gave me the statue of Achi Chokyi Drolma. It was on the morning of the day he informed us he was our father. Our birthday. “Why was that?”

“My mother, your grandmother, died in childbirth. Flynn had help raising me for a few years but then he became busy trying to establish the Institute.

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