The Third Kiss Page 7

  “Leave it, Jonas. It’s not worth it. Stefan will have a fit.” They both glanced at the front counter and the wiry, dark-haired man I assumed to be Jonas’s boss.

  “He crashed your party?” I asked. “I saw him at Jess Tanner’s last night as well. Maybe he’s in the habit of crashing parties.”

  Leo stopped peeling the paper wrapper from his muffin and looked across at the guy. “Did he give you any trouble?” he asked Jonas.

  “No.” Jonas was still standing but no longer had that “I’m gonna introduce violet-eye-guy to my knuckles” look. The guy almost looked disappointed there wasn’t going to be a showdown. He stood, that lazy smirk not moving from his face, and with an eerie hand-blown kiss in our direction, strolled out of the café.

  Beth did one of her theatrical shudders. “Hot but creepy.”

  Behind the counter, Jonas’s boss motioned for him to hurry over.

  “Give me a sec.” Jonas weaved between the tables. When he reached the front, his boss pointed him toward a brunette sitting at a small table near the window.

  “Any idea who that is?” Beth asked as we watched Jonas reluctantly make his way over to the girl.

  She turned to face him, and that was when I recognized her. “Some girl he was getting friendly with last night.”

  Leo nodded. “Sarah. She was really into him.”

  Last night maybe. Today her body language told a different story. She sat rigid and made no attempt to touch him. If anything, she deliberately held her body away. There was also a lot of head-shaking going on. After what could only have been a minute or two, she stood and stormed out of the café.

  Jonas trudged back to our table and slumped into his chair, a bewildered look on his face. “That’s two now.” He looked back at the door where Sarah had just left. “Two who suddenly can’t stand the thought of being with me.” He sounded dazed. “Apparently just thinking about me makes her stomach turn. What the hell is going on?”

  Leo shrugged. “What does it matter? It’s not like you were serious about her.” He took a bite of his muffin.

  Jonas frowned at him. “That’s not the point. Doesn’t it strike you as weird that in two days two girls cut me loose after I get that bizarre letter?”

  “Suffer on your own Love’s Mortal Coil,” Beth teased.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Leo glared at her before turning back to Jonas. “The letter has nothing to do with it. Or do you honestly believe a piece of paper can have some weird voodoo power over you?”

  My thoughts exactly.

  “I don’t know.” Brows scrunching, Jonas rubbed his palms along his thighs.

  “I think we can discount voodoo,” I said. “But maybe there’s something we’ve missed. Do you have the letter here?”

  Jonas shook his head. “Why would I carry the thing around?”

  I thought back to what I remembered of the text… But should your chosen shun you on the morrow… Your presence she will scorn for evermore. Clearly it was all nonsense, but I could understand why he was getting edgy. He’d definitely been shunned and from the look on Sarah’s face as she’d left, there was a fair bit of scorn floating about.

  Then there was the insignia on the seal. AMS. Those letters had to be a clue to the identity of the sender.

  “You certain you don’t know anyone with the initials AMS?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Jonas said. “Absolutely.”

  AMS. AMS. A.M.—

  “Wait, what was the other girl’s name?” I sat forward in my chair. “The one from your birthday party?”

  “Ashley.” His brows bunched. “Why?”

  “AMS… What if A stands for Ashley and S for Sarah?” I said.

  His face was the definition of skepticism. “And what does the M stand for?”

  I huffed. “I don’t know. The third girl’s name?”

  No one at the table looked convinced. But a theory was forming in my head. “Hear me out. What if Ashley, Sarah, and mystery girl M want to freak you out a little? You know, teach you a lesson because to you girls are like Kleenex—disposable after single use. So they cook up this ‘three kisses and you’re out’ curse and watch you squirm. Poetic justice for a bunch of disgruntled ex-girlfriends.”

  Silence. Then Leo slowly nodded. “Plausible theory.” He took another bite of muffin.

  “With one massive hole,” Jonas said. “Leo introduced me to Sarah last night.” He crossed his arms and turned to Leo. “Or are you saying you’re in on this?”

  Leo coughed, sending choc chips flying onto his laptop. “I write Java and HTML, dude, not poetry in Icelandic centimeters.”

  Jonas pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’d be iambic pentameter, Leo.”

  Leo scratched his elbow and took a gulp of his coffee. “Point proven. We both know I never belonged in that AP English class.”

  “It’s extension—ah, never mind.” Jonas slowly ran a hand over his face. “This is bullshit.” I understood his frustration. Put in the same situation, I’d also be wondering what on earth was going on.

  Beside me, Beth pulled Leo’s laptop over to her. “Have any of you looked it up?”

  This time Leo snorted. “Like that’s going to help.”

  Beth threw him a reproachful look. “You got any better ideas?” He crossed his arms and bristled but kept quiet. I watched Beth type the obvious into the search box: AMS. I was doubtful, but it was worth a try. I slid my chair closer to hers so I could see the screen better.

  The first few results confirmed my doubt. “I can’t see the Australian Marine Services sending Jonas creepy love letters.”

  Beth scrolled down the page. “Or the Australian Meteorological Society.”

  “Try ‘love’s mortal coil.’” Jonas slid his chair closer to Beth’s.

  That brought up a bunch of Shakespeare references and links on some eighties gothic pop band.

  Jonas exhaled a long breath and slumped back in his chair. “Leo’s right. This is a waste of time.”

  Across the table, Leo shrugged in an I-told-you-so fashion.

  At the front of the café, Stefan tapped a finger at his wristwatch.

  “I think he’s trying to tell me my break is finished.” Jonas got up and turned to me. “You coming over tonight? We can download a movie, get some takeaway…you know.”

  I glanced up at his face, searching his expression for warning signs. It wasn’t an unusual question. He’d asked it many times before. But this time I was certain I heard a subtext.

  Jonas waited for my answer. When it didn’t come right away, he sent a hand into his hair. Warning sign! I held my breath, eyes fixed on the strands between his fingers, anticipating the dreaded tug, release.

  It never came.

  My breath left my lungs in a relieved whoosh. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Good.” He nodded and made his way toward the front of the café, scooping up dirty cups off tables on the way.

  Following a quick lunch with Dad, I found myself at home in the study, a massive glass of ice water next to the computer keyboard, and the letters AMS blinking at me from the screen. Beth’s search had sparked an idea. What if the letters AMS weren’t initials but an acronym?

  I searched databases, cross-referenced phrase searches with lines I could remember from Jonas’s letter, and tried several different search engines.

  Nothing.

  Nothing that made sense anyway. Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d missed something obvious. Like an elusive shadow in my peripheral vision, that something dissolved the moment I turned my head to look directly at it.

  An hour later I gave up. This is useless. I reached for my near empty water glass and knocked it. The remaining contents splashed all over a stack of Dad’s medical journals.

  “Crap!” I bolted out of my chair and raced into the kitchen for a
tea towel. Back in the study, I assessed the damage. The latest issue of The General Medical Physician would have to be hung out to dry, along with Medicus Mortalis: The Mortal Doctor. The others had survived.

  I dabbed at the covers of the two sodden periodicals, annoyed at my clumsiness. Medicus Mortalis.

  Who uses Latin anymore anyway?

  And just like that, something shifted, and that elusive shadow came into focus. I dropped the wet tea towel and brought up the translate function on the computer screen. A few keystrokes later I had some answers.

  Along with twice as many questions.

  Chapter Nine

  Jonas

  The weight of Stefan’s stare pushed at my shoulders all the way from across the counter as I wiped down the tables. My meddling boss was itching to say something, had been since Sarah stormed out of the café earlier. So far I’d managed to avoid the lecture, but now, with the last customer gone, and the place about to close, I could tell he was bursting to serve me a slice of his advice. Any second now…

  “Trouble with your lady friends?” Despite having moved here from Russia two decades ago, Stefan’s voice was still all lilting long vowels and rolling consonants. Add the skinny mustache and the sharp glint in his eyes, and I swear, sometimes I thought I was working for a Russian spy.

  Head down, I kept wiping. “You could say that.” No point denying it. He’d witnessed my second dumping, had seen how it had freaked me out. I was still reeling.

  Two girls in two days.

  Right after that crazy-ass letter.

  What the hell do I make of all this?

  There was a clatter of cups as Stefan placed them on the shelf behind the counter. “You want my advice?” Not really, but you’ll give it to me anyway. “Dostoyevsky say, ‘You chase after two bunnies, you catch none.’”

  No way Dostoyevsky used the word “bunnies.” “You mean, ‘You run after two hares, you catch neither,’” I said, joining him behind the counter.

  “Da, yes, yes. Stop running after so many girls, and you might catch one that not run away.”

  Ah, but that was just it—I had no intention of catching one. Ever. So why is this curse letter eating at you?

  I threw the rag I’d been using into the sink and rolled a stiff shoulder. “Thanks for the stellar advice. I’ll take it on board.” I didn’t bother to mask the sarcasm in my voice. Stefan sighed and shook his head, giving up on me. My phone vibrated. Glad for the diversion, I fished it out of my back pocket and read the text:

  Meet me at the library. Found something.

  I smiled. Should have known Cora wouldn’t leave it alone. The girl was nothing if not determined. She always finished what she started.

  I slid the phone back into my pocket and turned to Stefan, who was now busy counting the day’s takings. “Do you still need me or can I go?”

  He paused, peered at me from beneath his thin jet-black brows. “You go.”

  Grabbing my car keys from underneath the counter, I had my hand on the door handle when Stefan decided he wasn’t finished with me yet. “Only one, Jonas. And make her good one!”

  The café door rattled on its hinges after I slammed it behind me in reply.

  The local library was a short drive from the BeanStop. It backed onto a small reserve, tucked away neatly in a cul-de-sac off the main road. I parked in the dingy parking lot out back. The Hammond’s Beetle wasn’t there; Cora must have walked. Inside, I found her at one of the desktops, gaze glued to the screen.

  “Hey.” I pulled out a chair beside her. She quickly minimized the browser window she had been looking at and turned to me. She was excited; the expression on her face told me as much. She did her usual and tried to play it cool, but I knew her too well. No way could she stop her hazel eyes from dancing.

  The corners of my mouth tugged north. I loved that look. It was so Cora—composed on the outside but full of barely contained, brainy grit just beneath the surface. If you punctured that outside layer in just the right spot, you were rewarded with an eyeful of razor-sharp wit and determined intellect. That was why I enjoyed needling her so much; I loved her smarts out on display.

  “So what’d you find?”

  “Okay, so what if the letters AMS aren’t someone’s initials? What if they’re an acronym?” Eyes wide, she waited for my response.

  “Sure. Possible. But initials or acronym, we still don’t know what the letters stand for.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” She flashed me a self-satisfied grin before turning back to the computer and bringing up a translate function on the screen. “Watch this.” She selected Latin in the drop-down menu and typed “love’s mortal coil” into the text box. The words Amoris Mortalis Spira appeared.

  AMS.

  The skin on my nape prickled. “Impressive. How did you figure that out?”

  “One of Dad’s medical journals. The Latin title triggered me off.”

  “Right, so it’s a Latin acronym for ‘love’s mortal coil.’ Which means whoever sent the letter knows some long-dead language.” I rubbed at the back of my neck. “That’s interesting, but not very helpful.”

  That earned me a huff. “Give me a chance.” She navigated to the search engine’s home page. Her fingers moved quickly over the keyboard as she typed the Latin phrase into the search box. Only three pages of results came up. Most were written in Latin so they were all Greek to me, but Cora clicked straight to the last page and pointed to an entry halfway down.

  “Look.” Her voice betrayed her excitement. I read the text:

  Amoris Mortalis Spira: Discovery of Ancient Scroll Unearths Long-Buried Love Curse.

  Cora clicked on the link and we were taken to the New York Times article archive. She opened the full newspaper story, originally published almost two decades ago. The writing was small. I edged closer and copped a noseful of mango scent as Cora brushed her ponytail over one shoulder. I blinked, trying to concentrate.

  “Okay, listen to this.” She began to read:

  The discovery of an ancient manuscript in a Roman villa in the Bay of Naples has certain sectors of the archaeological world excited. The Latin text is said to date back to the time of Julius Caesar and centers around what scholars believe to be an ancient love curse. Initial translations of Amoris Mortalis Spira, in English “Love’s Mortal Coil,” tell the story of a king’s daughter and her bargain with powers of darkness to seek revenge on her half brother for defiling her, only to have the love spell she curses him with backfire on her.

  Doctor Richard Cooper, an expert in the field who has been part of the well-known Philodemus Project at the University of California, L.A., believes the young woman in the Amoris Mortalis Spira scroll to be none other than Tamar, the biblical King David’s daughter.

  “It seems that this text is an epilogue of sorts to the Old Testament book of 2 Samuel, telling us what became of the disgraced Tamar,” Doctor Cooper says.

  Because the newly discovered scroll is the first and only time mention is made of the ancient love curse in any archaeological findings, scholars agree the story is nothing more than fourth century fiction. Doctor Cooper, along with his assistant, Daniel Scholler, are looking forward to examining the scroll in depth over the coming months.

  “So…what do you think?” Cora arched her thin brows.

  I raised one of my own in answer. “An ancient love curse? You’re not taking this seriously, right?” Not level-headed Cora. It was all a bit too Da Vinci Code.

  “Course not!”

  “What’s your theory, then?” I knew she had one.

  She smiled, sending green-gold flecks dancing in the hazel. “It’s obvious. Someone has learned about Love’s Mortal Coil, maybe even come across this newspaper article, and decided to use it to rattle your cage.”

  “So you’re still working on the disgruntled ex-girlfriend theory?”r />
  “You have enough of them.” She twitched an eyebrow, just one, and just long enough to lay down an unspoken challenge. I studied her for a few moments. If only I could read her as easily as the newspaper article on the screen beside her.

  I leaned back, crossed my arms. “You say that like it bothers you.”

  For a fraction of a second her eyes grew as round as a Krispy Kreme. Then she snorted. “What? No! I’m just stating fact.” Her gaze slid from mine back to the computer screen.

  I took in her profile for a moment: her straight nose, full lips, and that slightly expressed stubborn chin, and…it hit me. I was disappointed with her answer. I wanted her to be bothered.

  What the hell?

  I rubbed at a kink in my neck and shoved that realization as far as I could to the back of my brain, never to be analyzed. Ever. Could be Cora wasn’t the only one experiencing deviant impulses.

  “Jonas? Are you listening to me?” She’d turned back to face me.

  “Sorry. What?”

  “I said the ex-girlfriend theory is the most plausible, unless you have a better one?”

  “I don’t know. That article wasn’t easy to find.” I tipped my head at the computer screen. “And I can’t remember any of my exes being that into ancient history or the classics.” Not that I spent enough time with them to find out.

  “But it’s possible,” Cora persisted. “One of them could have come across this Mortal Coil stuff and is trying to trip you out.”

  I gave in. “Fine, let’s assume you’re right. That still doesn’t tell me who is behind all this.”

  “That’s what I realized, too. But there’s someone who might.” She maximized the browser window from earlier.

  I leaned in again and found myself looking at the University of Sydney’s Department of Classics and Ancient History page. There, under academic staff, one name leaped off the page: Professor Daniel Scholler.

  “I don’t see how this Scholler guy is going to help us find out who sent me that crazy-ass letter.” We were finally heading out of the library after an hour of searching academic databases on anything relating to Amoris Mortalis Spira. Nothing. Complete waste of time. “You’d think he’d have published something about it if it was important.”