Chapters One and Two of Hot Magic
Chapter 1
“Harrison Chevalier is sitting in a
tree,” Doreen announced as soon as Julie Dancer answered her phone.
“The new neighbor? I didn’t know
he’d moved in already. Why is he in a tree?” Julie leaned over the kitchen sink
to look out the window. She gently pushed several small pots of fading herbs
off to the side of the windowsill with a silent promise to water them later. “I
can’t see him from the kitchen. His garage is in the way. I’m going upstairs to
look out my bedroom window.”
“He’s in that old oak next to my
property line.” Doreen Lessing lived in the split-level behind the small cedar
shake bungalow that Harrison Chevalier had just rented. She had a much better
view of his backyard than Julie. “Do you think he has some kind of mental
illness that involves a compulsion to climb trees?”
“You mean OTCD, obsessive tree
climbing disorder?” Julie took the steps two at a time. “That’s usually
accompanied by an excessive ingestion of bananas. Unless there’s a mound of
peels on the ground, I’m thinking he’s an entomologist, studying a rare species
of oak mites.”
“We have a rare species of oak
mites in Ann Arbor?”
“I don’t know. Ask Harrison.”
“Ha-ha.”
Julie hopped over the dirty jeans
scattered on her bedroom floor and pulled aside her bright, yellow bedroom
curtains. From this angle she could see most of Harrison’s tidy backyard. Sure
enough, one shiny wingtip moved back and forth amid the leafy branches of the
oak tree near Dorie’s yard.
“This is so weird,” Julie murmured.
“I say he’s a spy for the CIA, and
Cindy is really an international terrorist. He’s keeping her under
surveillance.” Cindy Lui, also referred to as Sexy Cindy, Sin Cindy or Luscious
Lui, depending on Dorie’s mood, lived in the beige, vinyl-sided ranch on the
other side of Harrison’s house. “Why else could he possibly be in that tree?”
“She rented him the house. She’d
have to be a pretty inept terrorist to do that. You’ve been reading suspense
novels again, haven’t you?” Julie pushed aside a couple of books that had fallen
onto her bed from her nightstand. She sat and thumped her bare feet into her
running shoes, which she never used for running. “I’ll go welcome him to the
neighborhood and find out what he’s doing in the tree.”
“What?” Dorie’s low screech made
her wince. “Grown men in shiny shoes don’t sit in trees. Seriously, what if he
has some kind of problem?”
“I’m a trained social worker. I can
handle it.” Okay, she worked in research and hadn’t actually counseled anyone
since her practicum training. Still, it was like riding a bike, right? It would
come back to her. “I’ll call you as soon as I get back in the house.”
“I’ll keep watch. I’m not
comfortable with this, Julie. If things get rough, tuck your hair behind your
ear as a signal, and I’ll send the twins into the yard. They’ll be the perfect
distraction.”
“If things get rough? This is not a
military campaign.” Though Dorie’s six-year-old twin boys probably qualified as
weapons of mass destruction. “I’m going to introduce myself to our new
neighbor.”
“Who happens to be sitting in a
tree,” Dorie pointed out.
“He’s probably trying to rescue his
cat.”
“Julie, he just suddenly appeared
in his yard in a tree. No car, no moving truck, nothing. Seriously, don’t you
think that’s strange?”
“I think it’s strange that you know
that.”
“I’m a stay-at-home mom. It’s
important to keep abreast of changes in my work environment.”
Julie paused, impressed. “That’s a
really clever rationalization for being nosy.”
“Thank you.”
“His car’s probably parked in the
garage, and the moving truck is coming later. I’ll talk to you soon.” Julie
pressed the off button and shoved the phone in her pocket.
She jogged down the stairs, lifting
her knees high so she could consider it her exercise for the day, and stopped
in the kitchen to look for a new-neighbor food offering.
When Tasha left for college, Julie
pretty much quit making dinners. The planning, buying, and cooking of healthy
meals took time and energy that could be better used for…okay, she currently
used it for watching movies and catching up on old television series she’d
missed over the years. But hey, Firefly with oatmeal or Chicken Marsala
with lots of dirty dishes—not a hard decision.
Unfortunately, that meant her
cupboards were fairly empty. She hit the jackpot with an unopened package of
Krispy Kremes in the freezer. They’d been an impulse
buy, frozen once sanity returned so they wouldn’t become dinner. While they
defrosted in the microwave, she grabbed a serving plate out of a bottom
cupboard. The dish was fine china with little stars decorating the scalloped
edges. She piled the slightly warm but now soft donuts onto it and headed out
the back door.
Harrison had a detached single-car
garage that sat behind his house. She followed his driveway and veered off
around the garage into the backyard. A tangle of rose bushes bloomed in the
September sun, adding a sweet note to the perfume of freshly cut grass. The
foot still hung from the tree, a well-shod pendulum.
“Hello! Mr. Chevalier?”
The shoe abruptly stilled and the
branches of the oak tree began an ominous rustling. Two legs, clad in perfectly
creased black slacks, appeared beneath the lowest branch. In a rush, a large,
lean male body dropped to the ground. The man crouched for a second, then
straightened.
Julie brought the plate of donuts
closer to her chest. “Mr. Chevalier?”
He was not the quirky, little
Frenchman that his name and actions might suggest. He was not at all the type
of man you’d expect to find sitting in a tree. High, haughty cheekbones graced
a too-serious face. Thick blond hair brushed the collar of his black shirt and
seemed more suited to a surfer than the elegant man in front of her. Eyes the
color of old gold watched her with unnerving intensity.
“I saw you in the tree.” The words
were breathless and not at all the welcome she’d intended. She shoved the plate
into his hands.
The man glanced down at the donuts.
“You saw me in the tree?” He had a British accent. She was a sucker for a
British accent.
“Your foot, actually. I saw your
foot hanging from the tree when I just happened to glance out my bedroom
window.”
She shifted uncomfortably under his
steady stare. Walking into his backyard and calling him out of a tree to
welcome him to the neighborhood suddenly seemed more intrusive than friendly.
“Uh, I thought you might be stuck and need some help,” she improvised.
“You thought I might be stuck and you
brought donuts?” He nodded as if this made perfect sense. “Were you going to
arrange them into a soft landing spot in case I fell?”
Julie sucked in her breath and kept
a pleasant expression on her face. Did he mean to be rude, or was this an
example of the wry sense of humor the Brits were rumored to have? She managed a
laugh, just in case he’d said something funny.
He didn’t smile. “I’m quite capable
of getting myself out of a tree.”
“Obviously.” She had the ridiculous
urge to apologize for doubting him. She stifled it. “Welcome to the
neighborhood,” she said belatedly.
“Thank you.”
They stared at each until Harrison
shifted the plate of donuts and glanced pointedly at his watch.
“I know it’s none of my business,
but why were you up in the tree? Do you own a cat?” Julie was usually better at
polite small talk, but her brain felt unaccountably scrambled.
“No, I don’t own a cat. And you’re
right. It’s none of your business.”
She laughed again, turning it into
a cough when he looked at her as if she were a lunatic. Okay, so he meant to be
rude, not funny. She could handle that.
She gave him her most charming
smile. “Being the new guy on the block means everybody is curious about you.”
She leaned in slightly. “Rumor has it you’re a spy. If you give me the real
scoop, I can let everyone know that you’re actually a bird lover or an arborist
or…whatever.”
She caught a flash of alarm in his
eyes.
“There’s talk about me already? I
only arrived fifteen minutes ago.”
Julie waved a hand in the air.
“Small-town America. Gossip, gossip, gossip. You can’t
avoid it.”
“You consider Ann Arbor, a city of
over a hundred thousand people, small?”
Julie shrugged. “It’s all relative.
We have some really big cities in America.”
His lips curved in something that
was almost a smile. “I’ve heard that. What’s your name?”
“Julie Dancer.” She pointed to her
right without looking away from his face. “I live in the Cape Cod next door.”
“Julie.” His gaze intensified, and she
felt sudden empathy for every amoeba ever examined under a microscope. He
studied her from the top of her head down to her toes, absorbing the boring
details of her brown hair, brown eyes and short nose. She became conscious of
her worn University of Michigan T-shirt and khaki shorts. Had she shaved her
legs recently?
“Julie Dancer.” The way he repeated
her name—slowly, like he held it in his mouth and savored it—sent a
dart of unexpected heat through her. “At last.”
“At last?”
He took a step closer to her. “I’ve
been waiting to meet you.”
She took a step back. Maybe Cindy
had told him a lonely divorcée lived next door. Maybe he had plans to hit on
her. Her pulse beat faster until reality intruded. If he wanted to hit on
anybody, it would be Cindy, who far outclassed her as potential hit material.
Which was fine by her because she didn’t want
to be hit on.
Wait a minute.
“You moved in fifteen minutes ago
and have been waiting to meet me while sitting in a tree?”
“Of course not.” He frowned up into
the branches of the tree. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
She pulled herself to her full five
feet, seven inches. He didn’t look impressed. Maybe because he still towered a
good six inches above her. “I’m not ridiculous.”
He lifted an eyebrow.
Americans cock a brow and look
amused or perplexed. Only the British could convey such arrogance with a simple
facial movement. They probably employ specially trained nannies to teach the
skill— “A little higher, Master Harrison, or there will be no bangers and
mash for you.”
Fascinated, she watched until the
brow dropped. “Why don’t you explain what you meant by the ‘I’ve been waiting
to meet you’ remark?”
“Certainly, though I prefer to do
so in private.”
Could Dorie be right? Was he a spy?
Or maybe he was a serial killer, trying to get her indoors where he kept his
electric saw. She took another step back. “This yard is private. No one can
hear us here.”
His jaw firmed, and she had the
distinct impression that people didn’t argue with him very often. “I’m Harrison
Chevalier.” The words reverberated like a note rung on a gong. He paused,
obviously waiting for a response.
Julie nodded. “I know. Cindy Lui,
your landlord, told my friend Dorie you were moving in. Cindy was pleased to
get another renter so quickly. Eugene, who used to live in your house, had to
leave suddenly when he got an unexpected transfer. He’s an engineer at Ford.
He’s in Germany now.”
Harrison crossed his arms, a furrow
of impatience between his eyes. Obviously, he couldn’t care less about Eugene.
“I should recognize your name,
right?”
“Yes, you should.”
She gave him a half-smile of
apology.
His frown deepened. “I’m one of the
Penumbrae,” he said, as if that would make everything clear. “It’s time for you
to assume your rightful place in the Triad and help block a curse that is being
placed on me.”
Several heartbeats passed in
silence. A slight rustling in the branches above broke the unnatural quiet.
Harrison grimaced as a twig fell on his head and he brushed it aside.
Julie assumed the accepting,
non-judgmental expression that she’d perfected during her last research project
on psychosis. “What is the curse?” Her brain hummed as she searched her mental
files for a diagnosis fitting a man who believed he was cursed. Schizophrenia?
Psychotic disorder? Smart ass?
“It’s a binding curse. The Walker
who attempts it wishes to become my consort.”
“Your consort.” Add a delusion of
royalty to the mix. Fascinated, she decided to keep him talking. The more she
knew about how his mind worked, the easier the decision about buying a privacy
fence would be. “Does this curse make you impotent?”
“Excuse me?”
“Consort’s an old-fashioned word
for a royal husband or wife, right? It’s just that if I wanted to be your
consort and I was able to curse people, I’d curse you to impotence until you
agreed to…consort with me.”
He cocked his head and considered
her with more interest. “You are truly evil.”
“Well, what’s the point of a curse
if it’s not evil?”
“I’m not impotent.” He stated the
words flatly.
“I’m glad for your sake.” Her
biggest problem during that study had been a tendency to become too immersed in
her subject’s fantasy lives. She forced herself to rein in her curiosity about
the imaginary curse and stick to the basics. “How can I help you?”
“Have sex with me.”
This was her fault. She’d
introduced the topic of impotence and had gotten the man thinking about sex.
She really needed to be more careful about what she said. She pulled out her
phone. “Look at the time! I’ve got to run. It was nice meeting you, Mr.
Chevalier.”
“You’re scared.” He sounded
surprised.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She backed
up a few more steps. “It’s very hard to be frightened of a man holding a plate
of donuts.” That, of course, was untrue.
He smiled. His eyes warmed with a
hint of amusement that had the oddest effect on her. Did a little delusional
thinking really matter in the big picture? They had meds for these sorts of
things. Harrison looked down as if he’d forgotten the donuts, and she began to
breathe again.
“We’ve gotten off on the wrong
foot. I can explain. Come inside and share a pastry with me.” He looked up, his
expression wry. “I promise to keep holding the plate of donuts if it will make
you more comfortable.”
How could she even think of
stepping into a house with this man? He tugged at her in a way she didn’t
understand. She nervously flicked a strand of hair behind her ear and heard a
door bang shut.
Dorie must have had the twins
revved at the starting block, ready to explode into the yard if needed. When
the first plastic arrow tipped with a suction cup bounced at Harrison’s feet,
Julie muttered a weak, “Maybe later,” and beat a hasty retreat into the safety
of her own home.
*****
Harrison carefully set down the
plate of donuts, ignored the steady stream of sucker-tipped arrows flying over
the chain link fence along the back of the yard and hoisted himself back into
the tree.
“This is uncomfortable, Bascule.”
He straddled an upper branch, brushing a leaf from his pants. “There is no
reason we need to meet in a tree.”
The great horned owl, perched on an
adjacent limb, blinked. “Fun, Harrison. Sitting in a tree is fun.”
“Only if you’re ten years old.” Though
he’d never sat in a tree when he was ten, so he couldn’t be sure of that. “Are
we just about done convincing the neighbors that I’m an oddball?”
“Not quite. I have two more things to
discuss with you. Word has reached me that small groups of Triad members have
begun to organize and are fighting back against the demons.”
“Finally.” A surge of hope lightened
Harrison’s mood. “Our work is paying off. We have to build on this.”
“You can’t do anything until you
get rid of the binding.” Bas ruffled his feathers. “I also came to offer advice
on how to handle the Dancer. Obviously, you don’t need it. Your charm and
persuasive abilities have rendered me speechless.”
“One could only hope.” Harrison
lifted his foot, reached down and unstuck an arrow that had attached to the
bottom of his shoe. “You sent me here.” He narrowed his eyes at the owl. “Marguerite’s
curse is already distracting me or I would have questioned you first. Is there
another way to break the binding?” The Dancer was not ideal. Her flip attitude
irritated him.
“The old-fashioned way is the
quickest, most efficient way. Marguerite wove the first tie of the binding with
earth energy,” Bas responded. “There is tremendous power involved in creating
and sustaining such a tie. Theoretically, a Dancer who can channel enough light
energy could undo it. The problem is finding someone with that capability. I
sense the potential in Julie Dancer. If you two join together, the power should
be enough to sever the tie.”
“Join.” Harry repeated the word.
Bas didn’t usually use euphemisms.
“Shag, boff,
bonk,” he promptly clarified. “Sex has power. Even humans use it as a tool in
their magic rituals. But be careful. There’s something about this Dancer that I
don’t understand, something that feels different.”
“The difference is she doesn’t
bloody know who I am.” Harrison said as he rubbed at his temple.
Bas blinked slowly. “Marguerite
bothers you more than I thought.”
The fact that Marguerite had
successfully completed the first part of the binding curse didn’t bother
Harrison. It enraged him. She sat in his mind like a weed that couldn’t be
plucked. He wanted her out. Yesterday. “Julie Dancer may have been raised
human, but she is one of us.” A connection that gave him a
dark sense of satisfaction. “Once she understands the consequences of
this curse, she’ll agree to help.”
The owl made a strange, gravelly
sound.
Harrison looked at him
suspiciously, but Bas merely spread his wings. With a powerful thrust, the owl
lifted off, a soaring shadow against the sun-bright sky.
*****
Julie almost ignored her phone, not
wanting to rehash the whole strange Harrison encounter with Dorie until her
head stopped pounding. At the last minute, years of conditioning triumphed. She
picked up her phone, tucking it to her ear as she reached for the ibuprofin in her kitchen cupboard.
“Hi, Mom.” The voice of her
nineteen-year-old daughter made her pause.
“Hey, Tash. Is everything going
okay at school?”
“School is fine. Grandma just
called me.”
Julie put four extra-strength
tablets into her mouth and swallowed, without water. Her mother had promised
not to tell Tasha her news until they were all together over the Christmas
holidays, about three months from now. Darn the woman. She couldn’t be trusted.
“Could this be a symptom of
menopause?” Tasha’s normally soft voice held an edge of anxiety.
Julie closed her eyes and slumped
into one of the maple chairs that matched the small kitchen table. “As far as I
know, homosexuality isn’t a recognized symptom of menopause. Besides, I think
Grandma went through menopause a good decade ago.”
“Then what’s wrong with her? It’s
ludicrous for a sixty-eight-year-old woman to suddenly decide she’s a lesbian.”
“She’s sixty-five,” Julie offered
weakly.
“I know she hasn’t been in the
closet all these years. You used to cover my ears when we’d be watching those
old Paul Newman movies together because of the comments she’d make.”
True. Her mother was quite the Paul
Newman fan. And not because of his acting skill.
“Is she supposed to even be
thinking about sex? I thought the whole libido thing wound down as you got
older and that people had to use drugs or lubricants to even do it.”
“Well, no. That’s not exactly….” Julie
stopped, and tried again. “Homosexuality isn’t just about sex.”
Tash wasn’t listening. “I bet she’s
going through the early stages of senile dementia. We need to get her help. I
think we should fly to Chicago together and do one of those intervention
things.”
“Calm down.” How like her mother to
drop this bomb and leave her to deal with the aftermath. They’d both known
Tasha would not easily accept her grandmother’s change in sexual preference.
Tash didn’t have a problem with homosexuality; she had a problem with change.
Her daughter craved stability. “You don’t do interventions for senile dementia
or homosexuality. You do interventions for substance abuse.” Thankfully her
child was studying English, not social work. “And many older people have
active, satisfying sex lives.” So she’d heard.
“Does this mean she never loved
Grandpa? Oh, Mom! Thank God he’s dead. He’d be so devastated!”
“Honey, why don’t you let this news
sink in for a while before we talk about it. Can you come over for dinner
tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow’s busy. I have a paper
due Monday for Great Books.” Tasha attended the University of Michigan, and
lived in a dorm about fifteen minutes from their house. “How about next
Sunday?”
“Call me if you want a ride.”
“Okay.” Tasha sounded calmer.
“Maybe this is one of Grandma’s passing fads.”
Not likely. Last time she’d spoken
with her, her mother had begun organizing a Chicago chapter of the Gay Grays.
“Just get your studying done and we’ll talk about this next week.”
“Mom.” Tasha sounded surprisingly
serious. “You’re happy, right? You don’t have any big changes planned that I
should know about?”
The fact that she even asked the
question was progress. Tasha had learned that she handled transition better
when she could prepare for it in advance. Tash’s father, Jack, was the exact
opposite. He didn’t know the meaning of the word “stable.” An adventure junkie
with a degree in archeology, he flitted from dig to dig like he was Indiana
Jones with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. When Tash started middle
school, Julie had decided the family should settle in one place. Jack had
decided they should get a divorce.
Julie sighed and glanced out the
window. She did a double take. Was that an owl swooping across her new
neighbor’s back lawn? An owl? In the middle of the day?
“Mom!”
Tasha’s voice brought her back to
their conversation. She turned away from the window and what was probably just a
very fat sparrow. She’d have to quit putting leftover buttered popcorn in the
bird feeders. “Don’t worry, honey. I’m very happy with my life. I’m always
going to be your predictable, dear old mom.”
“Which is just the way I love you.”
Tasha hung up, sounding comforted.
Predictable, comfortable,
safe—that’s just the way Julie wanted to live the rest of her life. She’d
had enough adventure with Jack, and then with single parenting. These were
going to be her quiet, peaceful years. She glanced out the window again trying
to see Harrison’s oak tree. So why was she suddenly feeling restless?
Chapter 2
Two hours later, a knock sounded on
her front door. Julie set down her coffee cup and muted the baseball game
before she answered. Harrison Chevalier stood on her doorstep, dressed in his
elegant tree-climbing attire.
“Thank you for the donuts.”
She took the clean plate he handed
her. “You’re welcome.”
“The plate is beautiful.”
Julie looked down at the perfect
circle in her hands. The tiny silver stars along the rim winked at her. She’d
counted them once when she was little. Exactly forty-two perfectly formed
stars. Her age now, she realized.
“It belonged to my grandmother. I
never met her.” Julie had no idea why she told him that.
“May I come in?” He sounded very
proper, very polite.
Julie became immediately aware of
the old but comfortable sweatpants and sweatshirt she’d put on after her
shower. When had she become such a slob? Oh, yeah. She’d always been a slob.
“Um…well, I’m watching the Tigers.”
“Watch your nature show later. We
need to talk.” Polite morphed into autocratic with startling ease.
She’d never taken orders well. Her smile
firmed. “I’m sorry, but now is not a good time.”
“I need your help, Julie.”
His clear eyes looked remarkably
sane for someone with a thought disorder. “I have the names of a few good
therapists in town,” she offered.
“I don’t need therapy.” He sounded
exasperated. “How about if we have dinner at a public restaurant? I just want a
chance to talk with you.”
“I have a policy not to date
neighbors.”
“This has come up before?”
He didn’t need to look so
surprised. “Well, no. It’s a new policy. Specifically geared toward neighbors
who believe they’re cursed.”
“I know I haven’t made a good
impression,” Harrison said, which wasn’t quite true. He’d made a very strong
impression and it wasn’t all bad. It wasn’t even
mostly bad.
He paused, as if considering what
to say, and ran his hand through his hair. The golden strands fell perfectly
back into place. Like magic. Julie’s shoulder length brown hair tended to wave
into soft curls at the least provocation. Just once, she wanted a straight
swing of shiny hair like the women in shampoo commercials.
A startled expression crossed
Harrison’s face. He reached out and touched a curl with one finger. “Your hair
is very nice. You don’t need to change it.”
Julie took a quick step back, out
of Harrison’s reach. “How did you know what I was thinking?”
Harrison frowned. “That shouldn’t
have happened. I apologize.”
There must be a logical explanation
for this. But, first things first.
“Do you know what I’m thinking
now?” She tried to visualize something innocuous, just in case—children
laughing, dogs cavorting in a flowery field, a blue sky shimmering with
sunshine. Unfortunately, her slutty brain kept inserting totally inappropriate
pictures of Harrison without a shirt. Beneath that proper clothing, light hair
dusted his wide chest and well-defined stomach muscles begged to be touched.
What was going on here? Men didn’t
interest her these days unless they were safely on a movie screen or in a book.
Harrison shook his head. “No. I
have no idea what you’re thinking.”
Thank you, God.
His hand reached out and she took
another step backward. It dropped to his side.
“Mind touch is a private form of communication
used by blood-bonded mates,” he explained. “I assure you this was highly
irregular and purely unintentional.”
She nodded, not really listening to
his gibberish as she came up with a reasonable explanation for his apparent
mind reading. Non-verbal cues. He noticed her staring at his hair and correctly
interpreted that to mean that she was dissatisfied with her own hair. Mystery
solved. On to other things.
He’d called her hair very nice.
Granted, that wasn’t a particularly
extravagant compliment, but she savored it for a moment before she remembered
the man also believed in curses and mental telepathy. Not to mention he sounded
like a science fiction geek or a dog breeder, with all his talk of mates.
Aliens and animals have mates. People have partners.
“Julie.” His voice commanded her
attention. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”
Spend a whole two hours with this
man? Something—okay, his accent and his incredible face and
body—almost compelled her to say yes. “No. I can’t.”
He looked at her as if she were a
particularly frustrating puzzle he needed to solve and then he smiled a slow
smile that made her quickly review what she’d been thinking. Nope. Nothing to cause a smile like that.
He took a step back and gave her a
brief nod. “Perhaps another time. I’ll be seeing you again soon.”
Julie quickly shut the door before
she could ask when. Harrison’s delusional system might fascinate her on an
intellectual level, but somehow she doubted intellectual interest alone was
bumping up her heart rate.
Which meant trouble. Because on a
personal level, Harrison Chevalier was definitely not the type of man a
comfortable, predictable woman should be interested in.
*****
Marguerite Deschamps
moaned and kicked aside the bedcovers as she twisted her body, trying to wake.
Grand-mère Belle was sobbing again, begging Marguerite to save her. With a
quick, sharp move, Marguerite threw her body into an upright position and broke
free of the dream.
She pulled in deep breaths,
trembling in the aftermath of the tormenting vision. “I promise, Grand-mère.”
She repeated the words she’d spoken since the first dream when she’d been a
mere eleven years old. “I promise I’ll save you.”
Now, after years of helplessly
listening to her grandmother’s pleas, she’d finally found the key to free her.
Marguerite automatically felt for the tie with Harrison.
Blank nothingness.
Her muscles tensed and panic iced
her body as she desperately searched for the presence that had been with her
since she’d cast the first words to bind him. There, he was there. Her heart
slowed. For a moment she had lost the powerful, angry hum that should have
scared her but instead had become oddly comforting.
Marguerite put a hand against her
head, as if doing so would keep him there. She shuddered as she mentally
touched the edges of a bitter essence she couldn’t identify, a sour presence
that had laced her psyche ever since she’d cast the curse. No matter. She knew
freeing Grand-mère would not be without price.
She glanced out the window at the
sun still high in the sky. She never woke until dark. Only her dreams had
roused her now. Unlike the flower she’d been named for, the ox-eye daisy, which
grew like a weed across the grassy hills and was called moonflower because it
bloomed both day and night, Marguerite preferred to stay in the shadows.
She dressed quickly in beige linen
trousers and a loose silk shirt of the same shade. She slipped on a pair of
low-heeled sandals and walked down the long marble halls of the family wing to
the library. No windows marred the rose-colored walls, built centuries ago from
the very stone that formed the rolling French countryside. The shadows soothed
her and she slowed her frantic pace as she traveled the long, cool corridor.
She reached out and let her fingers slide against the walls, feeling the
strength and support of her ancestors in the very foundations of the castle.
The library doors stood ajar. As
expected, her brother, Luc, sat in one of the burgundy leather chairs, reading
by the light of the large mullioned windows. He looked up, surprised, when she
entered the room.
“Marguerite. What’s wrong? Why are
you awake?” He set his book on a small wooden table, concern marking his
expression.
She glanced at the windows and the
outside shutters banged shut, cutting out the natural light along with a view
of the wooded slopes of Montagne Noire. Two lamps flicked on, emitting a soft
glow. She wouldn’t tell him of the dream. She never did. “We have a problem.
The link wavered.”
Luc tapped the cover of his book.
“I’m not surprised.”
“You’re not surprised? What does
that mean? I performed the first tie to perfection.” Marguerite paced the room.
Her pale hair whipped against her face with the force of her movement.
“Harrison is always in the corner of my mind, but suddenly, for the space of
several heartbeats, he was gone. That’s impossible, Luc!”
“Magic is nothing more than the
manipulation of energy. As such it can be transformed or re-routed by anyone
who has knowledge and skill.”
“Not a bonding curse.” Marguerite
argued with certainty.
“A curse is just the name given
when power manipulation is used for evil. The mechanics stay the same. You’ve
only placed the first tie on Chevalier. Two ties are required, each bound
during a new moon when you’re able to access the most earth energy. You have
almost three weeks to wait until the next new moon.” He paused. “This may not
proceed as smoothly as you plan, Marguerite. It’s wrong, not to mention
dangerous. Chevalier is powerful.”
She shivered, uneasy. “Trust me,
Luc. I won’t tell you why I’m doing this, but it must be done.”
Luc watched her with eyes that
invited her to confide in him. They shared almost everything. She wouldn’t have
survived their parents’ death without him. Yet, she’d never told him of the
dreams. And she couldn’t explain the path she now walked to free their
grand-mère. She wouldn’t taint him with the evil, also.
The lights in the room flickered
and power flowed in her veins, washing out her need to confide in her brother,
washing out her doubts. “I am the most powerful Walker of this generation.
Harrison will be my consort, tied to me.”
Luc folded his arms across his
chest. “So you’ll have a fierce lion by the tail.” When Marguerite didn’t
respond, he shook his head. “You’ve changed. Power was never so important to you.
Why, Marguerite?”
“Power frees you.”
“What do you need to be freed
from?” His eyes narrowed.
“Power creates opportunity.”
Marguerite quickly tried to deflect his line of questioning.
“This power you wield creates the
opportunity for much sorrow.” When Marguerite didn’t respond, Luc frowned, but
continued. “While you slept, I’ve been studying. I found an obscure reference
that I think we need to pay attention to.”
Marguerite picked up the book he’d
been reading, relieved he’d changed the subject. “Mots de Sagesse?”
She read the title aloud. “Words of
Wisdom? This book is read by school children.” She dismissed it, tossing it
back on the table beside Luc.
“The book is read by children
because it forms the foundation of Triad teachings. It tells the story of Patre
and Yesmi, father and mother of energy wielders. It outlines the prophecies.
You would do well to remember these, Marguerite. To remember the balance that
must be maintained.”
Marguerite laughed. She couldn’t
help it. He sounded so sure of himself, so passionate, so full of book learning
instead of life learning. She leaned over and placed her hands on both sides of
his beloved face. “Sanctimonious drivel, mon frère.
Close your book and look around you.” She patted his cheek and stepped away.
“Balance is an illusion. The ones with the most power will always control the
scale.” Soon she would have the strength to free Grand-mère Belle—and
in doing so, be free of her.
Luc didn’t take offense. He never
did. “The reference I found is in the prophecies. The verse talks of one who
will rise to great power in the aftermath of a divisive war. ‘A daughter shall
be born in light and shadow, a guardian who rises out of evil. Wild power
circles her and chaos follows in her footsteps.’”
Cold settled across Marguerite’s
shoulders. “Fifty years ago the Great Rift tore the Triad apart.”
Luc nodded, silent.
“We were born during a lunar
eclipse, as the earth’s shadow darkened the moon—in the light of the
moon, and then in shadow.” Marguerite swallowed, tasting fear. The dreams and
the surges of power she experienced might all be signs. “Perhaps it speaks of
me. Perhaps I’m the one prophesied.”
Luc watched her, a serious
expression on his face. “Prophecy does not equal destiny, Marguerite. You are
free to make your own choices.”
She’d not been free since the
dreams first came, but soon, soon she would be.
“Today while you slept I felt
something.” Luc said. “A wisp of Dancer power.”
“There are no Dancers in the area.”
None had lived in the Montagne Noire area since the Great Rift. Luc, however,
was a powerful Sensitive. He would not be mistaken. “Where is this Dancer?”
“Very far away.” He looked
thoughtful. “And the energy was Dancer energy, but different. Perhaps I felt it
though your tie. It may be the reason your connection with Harrison faltered.”
Marguerite clenched her fist,
muscles tensing all over again. Only a very powerful Dancer could help Harrison
break the bonding curse. She knew of none with that much power.
“I contacted London,” Luc
continued. “Harrison left the city over a week ago.”
Damn the limitations of the first
tie, which told her none of Harrison’s actions. “Where is he?”
“He’s gone to the States. To a town
in Michigan.”
She made her decision quickly. “We
leave for Michigan as soon as can be arranged.”
*****
Julie stopped by the grocery store
after church the following Sunday to stock up on as many of Tasha’s favorite
foods as she could find. If she kept her daughter’s mouth full, maybe Tash
wouldn’t spend the entire dinner discussing her grandmother. This was,
admittedly, a coward’s strategy. A true social worker would encourage Tash to
talk out her feelings. Tash, however, being a true social worker’s daughter,
didn’t need the encouragement. Julie added a gallon of cookie-dough ice cream
to the cart, Tash’s absolute favorite.
She parked in her driveway and
walked around to the trunk. How to get the bulging plastic bags into the house
in the fewest trips?
The handles of the four lightest
bags went around her left wrist and she hooked the handle of a gallon of milk
with her fingers. Two bigger bags fit around her right wrist and she cradled
the twelve-pack of diet root beer in her right arm. The case of water would
have to stay in the trunk for now. She staggered back from the car and realized
she didn’t have a way to close the trunk. She’d have to put something down.
A large hand reached from behind
her and lowered her trunk lid. “Can I help?”
“Harrison!” Harrison had become the
hit of the neighborhood. In the last week, several neighbors had had him over
for tea. If he planned to stay for any length of time, the local Starbucks
might be in serious trouble. “You move very quietly.”
“So I’ve been told. Your hands are
turning purple.”
She looked down. Her hands were purple and quickly turning numb.
“You’re right. Better get these groceries in the house. Thanks for closing the
trunk.” She hurried up the front walk, only to stop before the front door,
stymied as to how to open it.
“Do you have a key?” He stood
behind her.
“It’s not locked.” She couldn’t see
his face but she felt his disapproval.
“Crime is on the rise everywhere. It’s
dangerous not to secure your home.”
Julie glanced over her shoulder and
met his steady gaze. “You’re right. I’ll start locking the door from now on.”
Especially since he now knew she kept it open. Her hands had passed the tingly
stage and were going numb. “Would you open my door, please?”
He reached past her, his knuckles
brushing her bare arm, and turned the brass knob. She rushed inside, almost ran
through the small living room, and dropped the bags on the kitchen counter.
Instant relief. She flexed her wrists a few times to get the blood flowing.
Harrison stood in the arched
doorway that led from the living room to the kitchen. Today he wore khakis and
a brown shirt, making them look more formal than they were. Even though he
leaned a shoulder against the door frame, he had a
presence that made her stand up straighter.
She smoothed her dark blue capris
and tugged at the sleeveless white shirt she’d changed into after church. The
early October weather was unseasonably warm. She’d tamed her hair and even put
on makeup. She wasn’t always a slob. She could hold her own with this man.
Maybe.
“Making two trips would have been
more sensible,” he commented, nodding toward her hands.
“Next time I’ll do that.” Of course
she wouldn’t.
“You’re lying.” His eyes watched
her steadily. “Don’t.”
His words didn’t sound like a
threat. There was no invisible “or else” tagged on to the end. That would
almost have been easier. She could have gotten angry at his arrogance and
presumption.
Instead, his simple request for
honesty struck her as intensely personal and scared her more than any threat.
Which was stupid. If you asked most people if they wanted you to lie to them or
tell them the truth, they’d pick the truth. So why did his asking for it
outright shake her to her core?
“Okay, here’s the truth.” She spoke
louder than normal, trying to dispel the growing intimacy building in the room.
“I hate making two trips and next time I’ll load up with as many bags as I
possibly can to avoid it.”
He smiled slightly and then nodded
once. “Excellent.”
She was breathing too quickly. Who
was this man?
His expression serious, he
straightened, the spell he’d woven between them gone. “All week you’ve avoided
speaking with me privately. We have to talk. Marguerite will undoubtedly show
up soon.”
Julie sighed and began to move
efficiently around the kitchen, putting away the groceries. She’d forgotten for
a moment that this man was crazy. “I don’t know who Marguerite is, Harry,” she
said gently.
“I’m aware of that. Stop
patronizing me and give me your full attention. I’ll explain.”
Julie paused, a box of lasagna
noodles in her hand. “Does this have something to do with you wanting to have
sex with me?”
“Yes.” His face was expressionless.
“It’s not going to happen.”
He studied her a moment. “Would it
make a difference if I told you that you’d enjoy yourself?”
“Please.” Julie shook her head. He
might be crazy, but his ego was doing just fine.
“You’d no doubt get offended if I
offered you reimbursement for your services.”
“You think? Don’t even go there.”
He ran a hand through his hair in a
motion she was beginning to recognize as frustration. “I thought Americans
weren’t as hung up about sex as they used to be.”
“Where did you get that idea? Of
course we are.” She put the cheese in the refrigerator, stuffed all of the now
empty plastic bags into one bag and shoved them under the sink, then
straightened. “You’ve been watching American television, haven’t you?”
“Everyone watches American
television.”
“Television is fantasy,” she said.
Just like the delusions buzzing around inside your head, handsome man.
Harry took a step toward her.
“Define fantasy, Julie.”
“I know you have that word in
England. You’re from the land of Tolkien and Rowling.”
When he continued to watch her,
waiting, she elaborated. “Fantasy is make-believe. Pretend. Dragons and magic.”
She waved her hands in the air. “Happily ever after.”
“What if I told you dragons once
existed?” He took a step closer.
“I’d ask for fossil evidence.”
“What if I told you magic exists
now?”
“I’d say prove it.” He stood so
near she could smell him, an elusive scent of earth and sun that made her want
to breathe deeply.
His voice lowered. “What if I said
happily ever after is a possibility?”
“I’d say you’ve never been
married.” The words came out as a whisper. He stood too close. She should back
away, but she didn’t want to. A frisson of heat built from the soles of her
feet to her shoulders. The warmth spread out and filled her.
Harrison’s eyes darkened to rich
amber and his breathing deepened. He didn’t touch her, but it felt like he did.
It felt like he moved his hands over her, learning her skin, the space inside
her elbow, the curve of cheek.
“Have you ever been married,
Harry?” She forced herself to talk, to back away from him and the odd, intimate
sensation.
He frowned, but answered. “No.”
“Take my advice. Stay single. Life
is so much simpler that way.”
“I haven’t noticed that my life is
simple.” He stood still, his gaze following her movements as she picked up a
washcloth and began to wipe the tile counter, just for something to do.
She relaxed when he maintained a
safe distance. “Only because you don’t have the married state to compare it
to.”
“You’re cynical for one so young.”
Julie laughed, truly amused. She
tossed the cloth in the sink and folded her arms. “I’m forty-two. I have a
child in college. The gray in my hair is gathering momentum for a scalp
takeover. I have to eat one less meal a day just to maintain a weight that is
ten pounds heavier than it should be. I’m losing so many brain cells that my
head may be hollow by tomorrow morning. Thank you, but I am not young.”
“I don’t see any gray in your
hair.”
“Hmmmm.”
She tilted her head and pretended to consider him. “Maybe I will sleep with you
after all.”
“Yes. You will.” The calm assurance
in his voice caused a tremor of anticipation in the pit of her stomach.
“Harry, I’m joking. Listen, you’re
an incredibly attractive man, if a little tightly wound. Find yourself someone
younger, more adventurous.” Before I get hurt again.
“No.”
She tried again. “I’m not going to
do something stupid like sleep with a man who believes he’s cursed.”
“Would you sleep with me if I
didn’t believe I was cursed?”
Hoo boy. She didn’t want to think too
closely about that one. “Of course not.”
“Why not?”
“AIDS. Sexually
transmitted diseases. Sagging breasts.”
“You’re not planning on getting
married again?”
“Been there, done that, have the
scars. No.”
“You’re not planning on having
casual affairs?”
“Of course not.” She had a strong
moral code, a daughter to set an example for. Though her daughter really wasn’t
around all that much to appreciate the good example she was setting.
“So you’re never going to have sex
again in your life?”
Julie pulled out a chair from the
kitchen table and sat down hard. “I hadn’t thought about it like that. That’s
sad, isn’t it?”
“It’s not sad. It’s bloody
ridiculous.”
Julie rested her chin in her hand.
“Let’s not talk about this. I’m getting depressed.”
The front door banged and quick
footsteps sounded across the living room. Tash appeared in the kitchen doorway,
her thick, red hair pulled back from her face in a ponytail. She wore black
running shorts and a white sport T-shirt that molded to her torso. She bent
over, hands on thighs, and took a deep breath. “I knew you’d make lasagna, Mom,
so I decided to run over and pre-burn the calories.”
Julie glanced at Harrison. He
stared at Tash with surprise. Tash straightened and stretched before she
noticed Harrison. She gave her mother a startled look, then stepped forward,
her hand outstretched. “Sorry, I didn’t see you. I’m Natasha Morgen.”
Harry took her hand with a smile.
“Harrison Chevalier. I just moved in next door.”
Julie saw her daughter’s eyes widen
under the full impact of the Chevalier charm. “Welcome.” Tash’s voice sounded
breathy. Julie suspected it wasn’t from her recent run.
“Thank you.” Neither had released
the other’s hand. Julie fought an urge to rip them apart. She felt an equally
strong urge to stamp her foot. She settled for clearing her throat. Loudly.
Harrison took a step back from
Tasha, dropping her hand. “I didn’t realize your daughter was fully grown.”
“I told you she was in college.”
“Yes, but….” He paused, looking at
the young woman still smiling at him. A calculating glint glimmered in his eyes
when he turned back to Julie. “Perhaps Natasha might be willing to help me
break the curse.”