by Terri Reid
Finias nodded, staring at the closed door. “He hurt her badly,” he said without thinking.
Henry started. “How did you know?” he asked.
Finias quickly turned back to Henry. “I gathered from the interplay this evening,” he improvised. “I’m pretty good at reading undercurrents.”
Henry wasn’t convinced, but he nodded in agreement. “And there are quite a few undercurrents where these two are concerned,” he said. “Are you interested in her?”
Finias smiled slowly. “And that would matter to you because?” he asked.
Henry straightened himself to his full stature and met Finias’ eyes. “Because she and her family not only risked their lives to save me,” he said pointedly. “They gave back a part of me that had been hidden for most of my life.”
“Witchcraft?” Finias asked.
Henry nodded.
“So, you are a novice?” Finias asked, challenging him.
Henry took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes. “No, but I do seem to have a problem with control,” he replied softly. “I nearly killed a man. I would hate for that to happen again.”
This time Finias’ grin broke out into soft laughter. “Very good, Professor,” he said. “You are indeed their champion, at a time when a champion is needed. I can assure you that I wish no harm to befall any of the Willoughby ladies. And, I can assure you that my interest in Cat is not nefarious.”
“You don’t mind if I don’t believe you at first?” Henry replied.
“No,” Finias said. “I believe you would be a fool to take me at face value without proof.”
“And I am no fool,” Henry remarked.
Finias shook his head. “No, I don’t believe you are,” he replied. He sighed and glanced over his shoulder at his bedroom. “I do hate to be a rude host, but I must retire to my room in order to make an important call. Do you mind?”
“No, please,” Henry said, motioning towards Finias’ room. “I’ll just put my things away.” He turned, paused, and turned back. “And thank you.”
Finias lifted an eyebrow in confusion. “For what?”
“For your assistance. For your hospitality. And for your willingness to fight on our side,” Henry replied.
“Are you so sure I’m on your side?” Finias asked.
Henry studied him for a long moment and then nodded slowly. “I’m just about convinced. Good night, Ellis.”
Finias schooled his features once again to hide the guilt he felt when Henry used his false name. “Good night, Henry,” he replied abruptly, then turned to go into his room.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Cat entered the bedroom and, guided by a dim nightlight, made her way past Donovan’s bed to the bed on the other side of the room. She placed her overnight case on the floor and then walked back to check on Donovan.
She bent over him and felt her heart lurch. Although his breathing was normal, it still sounded a little strained, as if every breath was a reminder of the pain he’d been through. His complexion was not as pale, but she could still see dark shadows underneath his eyes and beads of perspiration on his forehead.
Reaching over to the nightstand next to his bed, she picked up a soft cotton washcloth and gently wiped away the moisture.
“Cat,” he murmured in his sleep.
“Shhhh, darling,” she whispered back, gently pushing his hair off his forehead. “You need to sleep.”
He exhaled softly, and she saw some of the tension leave his face. Then his face contorted, and his body shuddered. “Help me,” he whispered hoarsely.
She lifted her hand, moving it to connect with him and give him strength, then froze. Doubt, thick and tangible, stopped her. Was he still connected to the demon? Was this another ploy to pull her in, fill her mind with unspeakable horrors?
She stepped backwards, away from the bed, and grasped her hands behind her back. “I can’t help you,” she replied softly. “You have to make this journey on your own.”
“Cat,” he begged. “Cat don’t leave me.”
She shook her head and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I never left you,” she replied. “You left me.”
Even in his delirium, her words pushed through and exposed a memory that he had tried to forget.
He was standing in the forest, in front of the shelter on the escarpment above the lake. His duffle bag was packed with all of his earthly possessions, and he had a ticket for the Greyhound bus in his back pocket. And now, now was the worst part of it all. He had to say good-bye.
Would she understand? he wondered as he watched the path that led to the Willoughby home. Would she know that he was leaving for her?
He sighed and shook his head. No, he needed to be honest with himself. He was leaving for himself. He was leaving because someday, when he was a little older, he wanted to offer Catalpa Willoughby a life with an honorable, successful man. Not a life with a juvenile delinquent whose parents abandoned him as soon as they were able. He didn’t want charity. He didn’t want sympathetic looks from the Willoughbys. He wanted them to look at him with awe in their eyes, with admiration, and even more important, respect.
He heard the steps in the distance and focused all of his attention on the path.
The sun was sparkling, catching the red and brown hues in Cat’s hair. Her caramel-colored skin seemed to glow, and her smile made his heart thump in his chest. He prayed she’d understand. She saw him, and her smiled widened. “Donovan,” she cried out, breaking into a run.
She threw herself into his arms and lifted her lips for a kiss. He couldn’t deny her a kiss; he couldn’t deny himself one last kiss. With slow deliberation, he glided his lips over hers, tasting the sunshine and the warmth. Then he deepened the kiss; exploring, feasting, and anxiously trying to communicate his feelings. She moaned; it was a sound that was both sensual and frightened. She looked up at him, her lips bee-stung and moist. “Donovan?” she asked, and he could hear the concern.
He bent forward and kissed her again, a light, poignant kiss. Then he stepped away.
“I’m leaving, Cat,” he said.
She shook her head. “But I just got here,” she said. “Can’t you stay for a little while longer?”
“No, I don’t mean I have to go home,” he explained. “I mean, I’m leaving. I’m leaving Whitewater.”
He remembered the way she stared at him, confusion first, then shock, and finally, when his words sunk in, pain.
“No,” she replied adamantly. “No, you can’t leave. I love you.”
Words that should have brought joy, now brought pain and regret. He believed her. In her own way, Cat loved him. But he wondered if it was like the love she would give to any of the strays she and her sisters had adopted and saved. He didn’t, couldn’t be another project. Another Willoughby good deed. He needed to earn her love and respect.
“I’m going to school,” he replied. “In Chicago.”
She shook her head as her eyes filled with tears. “No. No, you said you’d go to school here, in Whitewater,” she argued, “until I finish high school.”
“I got a better deal in Chicago,” he replied coolly, desperate to keep any emotion out of his voice. “It’s just the way it is.”
Her head shot up as if she’d been slapped. The sorrow in her eyes was replaced with anger and pain. “That’s just the way it is?” she asked, her voice filled with rage.
The trees around them shuddered, and the sky filled with dark clouds. Thunder rumbled in the distance. “That’s just the way it is?” she repeated, the wind whipping around her, stirring up dust and debris like a maelstrom. She began to lift her hands in preparation for a spell.
Donovan took a deep breath and met her eyes. “Remember, an harm it none, Cat,” he reminded her. “But I understand if you feel the need to hurt me. I guess I deserve it. So, you have my permission to do what you need to do.”
Her hands dropped to her sides, and the winds died down immediately. Tears streamed down her face as she looked
at him. “Why, Donovan? Why?” she whispered hoarsely.
He took a deep breath and pushed back his own tears. “Because it’s something that I need to do,” he replied.
He reached back into the shelter, lifted his duffle bag, and hefted it over his shoulder. Without looking back, he walked down the trail toward town. He heard the sound of her knees hitting the soft ground. Heard the pain in her muffled anguished cries. And felt the pain of her breaking heart as it echoed in his own.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Standing only a few feet from his bed, Catalpa watched the expressions change on Donovan’s face as he slept and wondered about his dreams. At least the stark look of pain was gone, but it was now replaced by a deep sadness that made her heart ache for him. She brushed away the remaining tears and shook her head resolutely. “Don’t get pulled in again,” she warned herself softly. “Last time, it was only a broken heart. This time it could be the death of my family.”
Backing away from him, she moved to the bed on the other side of the room. She took a deep breath, trying to remove all of the negative emotions that had built up that day, but the melancholy hung over her like a raincloud.
“This is so not working,” she whispered with frustration. “Okay, Cat, it’s time to take charge.”
Pulling off her shoes and tossing them to the side, she climbed onto the bed and sat, her back against the wall, legs folded into a Lotus position and hands resting limply against her knees. She took another, slower, breath, and finally closed her eyes. She whispered the age-old mantra and felt her mind clear, like the sun bursting through clouds on a rainy day. She saw him in the distance and felt a surge of relief course through her body. He would know. He would understand. She moved to the shadowy figure and rested near his side. Although she had never been able to discern any visual details, the bulk of his shadow was comforting and welcoming.
“I’ve been waiting to hear from you,” her spirit guide chastised lightly. “How was your date?”
Cat smiled. “Well, the good news is I didn’t die,” she began.
“You didn’t…” he gasped, and then he took a deep breath. “Perhaps you should explain.”
Her smile widened. It felt good to be able to talk to someone who truly understood her. She leaned back against the bedroom wall and relaxed, her eyes still closed, and continued to converse with her spirit guide. She told him about the events of the evening, only pausing when she came to the part where Donovan grabbed her arm in the ambulance.
“What happened next?” he asked softly.
She sighed. “Donovan grabbed my arm and told me that he was going to drink my blood,” she said, surprised at the strength of her voice and the lack of fear she felt when she repeated the words. “Then he said he was going to burn my body as a sacrifice.”
The spirit guide was quiet for a moment and finally spoke. “Did you realize this was not your friend speaking, but the one who would control him?” he asked.
“Well, actually, a friend told me that it wasn’t Donovan,” she admitted thoughtfully. “I have to admit, because of the earlier vision…”
“Ah, yes,” the spirit guide replied. “The one we were going to face together. Isn’t it interesting that the demon chose to use that choice of words from Donovan’s mouth?”
Cat’s mouth dropped. “He knew,” she whispered as understanding dawned. “He knew what would frighten me. He knew I’d seen the earlier vision. It really wasn’t Donovan.”
“No, it wasn’t Donovan,” the spirit guide replied. “But, unfortunately, your friend has chosen the wrong associates.”
Shaking her head, Cat made a startling discovery. “He didn’t choose them for himself,” she said slowly. “He chose them because he thought that by being in their camp, he could protect us.”
“Are you sure?” the spirit guide asked.
She nodded slowly, but with emerging certainty. “Yes, I am sure,” she whispered.
“Is that certainty based on logic and common sense, or some other emotion?” he asked.
“Are you asking me if I am still in love with him?” she responded. “And if that love could somehow blind me to his failings?”
“No,” he replied kindly. “But I believe you are asking yourself those questions.”
She exhaled slowly. “This is some kind of psychotherapy, isn’t it?” she asked. “When I want an answer from you, you just reply ‘What do you think?’”
He chuckled softly. “What do you think?” he replied, half kindly, half ironically.
“I think you know exactly what I think,” she replied with a frustrating huff.
“That’s neither here nor there,” he said. “You need to decide, for yourself, if Donovan is a man you can trust, not only with your life, but with the lives of your family.”
“That’s not easy,” she immediately answered.
“Actually, it is,” he said. “It comes down to if you trust him or not. Trust, like integrity, is one of those characteristics that are all or nothing.”
But what if I trust him again and he hurts me again?” she asked quietly, the pain tangible in her voice.
“He can only hurt you if you allow him to,” he replied.
She shook her head in confusion. “So, I shouldn’t let him into my heart?” she asked.
“No, I didn’t say that, little one,” he replied.
“I’m confused,” she said.
She could feel the warmth and love coming from him, directed towards her. “Do you remember when you were a child, and we would talk about butterflies?” he asked.
She nodded, and a soft smile lit upon her lips. “About how I needed just to open my hand and allow them to rest there, but not try to catch them?”
“Exactly so,” he said. “Because catching them…” He paused.
“Would only kill them and disappoint me,” she answered.
“You took pleasure in what they were willing to give you,” he reminded her. “They delighted you by resting on your hand, displaying their vibrant colors, and then flying away to continue their journey.”
“Yes,” she said. “But what does that have to do…”
“You didn’t get hurt because they left, did you?” he interrupted.
“No,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Because they were supposed to leave,” she replied. “I didn’t expect them to stay. I could enjoy them for that short time I had them on my hand.”
“And why is that any different than trusting Donovan for what he can give you?” he asked. “If you don’t expect him to stay, to love you, then you won’t be disappointed…”
“I won’t be hurt,” she inserted. “He didn’t hurt me; my expectations of what I wanted to happen hurt me.”
“You were always very clever,” he remarked.
“But how can I keep myself from loving him?” she asked.
“You can’t,” he said sadly. “But you can understand that loving someone doesn’t necessarily guarantee a return of that emotion. As long as you can love and let him go…”
“I won’t be disappointed,” she said.
“You will be sad when he leaves,” he counseled. “But the sad will not be encased in bitterness.”
She lifted a hand and wiped a tear that slowly stole its way down her cheek. “I can do that,” she said, nodding. “I can let him go.”
“Then, perhaps, you can also trust him,” he suggested.
“Yes,” she said, her voice filled with determination. “Yes, I can.”
“Catalpa,” he said gently. “He may surprise you and return your love.”
She took a deep, shuddering breath. “And he may not,” she replied sadly. “But our focus needs to be on defeating the…”
“Catalpa!” he cut her off before she could mention the demon’s name.
“Oh,” she exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hands. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“No, you are tired,” he replied gently. “And you need to sleep, not worry
. I will be close tonight, watching over you. Sleep.”
“But I need to…,” she began, then stopped to yawn widely. “I need to…”
“Rest, sweet Catalpa,” he soothed. “Lie down on the bed and rest.”
Suddenly overwhelmed by exhaustion, Cat stretched out onto the bed, burrowing her head into the softness of the pillow and in moments she was breathing slowly, sound asleep.
She slammed the door to her bedroom and threw herself onto the bed. This time it had been worse. This time she’d had to stand alone against the members of the coven as they called her cruel names and made her feel like she was more of an outsider than she already felt.
Her sisters hadn’t been the target, perhaps because they were younger. Or perhaps because their coloring fit in more with the other students in Whitewater. And this time there had been no Donovan to walk slowly to her side and intimidate the others into leaving her alone.
They knew he’d left. They knew she’d lost not only her protector, but her soul mate. They told her that he’d found other, prettier girls. They told her that he’d called them, laughed with them about the stupid crush she had on him. Told them about her inexperience and ignorance. Told them that he was glad to be out of Whitewater and far away from Catalpa Willoughby.
Hot tears fell on her pillow as she wept and then, finally exhausted, she fell into a deep sleep.
“Cat, I will always love you.”
She could hear his voice in her dreams. She could feel his hand tenderly wipe away the tears. She could feel the butterfly-light touch of his lips on her forehead.
“Be strong, for just a little longer,” he had pleaded. “I’ll come back to you a better man. I promise I’ll come back to you.”
But, of course, when she woke up, he wasn’t there. How many times had she dreamed the same dream? How many times, when she was near waking, she could almost feel his presence in her room? How many times had she been buoyed up, only to be let down when she opened her eyes and found that she was still alone?
How many times would she believe that he still cared?
Chapter Thirty-nine
Catalpa’s slow and steady breathing mirrored Donovan’s in the otherwise silent room. The light from the table lamp shone dimly and only illuminated the room slightly, casting pale shadows on the wooden floor. For a moment, the room was at peace, as were the two occupants, dreaming of simpler times and places, forgetting the horrors of the day.
