“Fini,” she replied. He grinned at her and they took the stairs together. “Now what?”
“Now, I go back to the roof, and you to the door of your aunt’s room.”
“Ah, we enter from two directions.”
Al nodded. “But take care. Do not stand directly in front of the door, Mary Catherine. I’ve no desire to lose you now.”
She caught her breath. Silly thing for him to say. He’d be going back when this was over. Losing her was inevitable. She gave her head a shake to rid herself of that thought. “Don’t worry. I’ve done this sort of thing once or twice.”
He nodded, and headed up the attic stairs. She gave him a minute to get into position, then strode up to her aunt’s bedroom door and, standing to one side of it, reached out and knocked.
“What is it?” de Rocci growled.
“Mr. de Rocci? It’s M. C. Hammer. I brought that tape like you said.”
She heard footsteps coming nearer, a voice cussing. “What the hell—how did you—?” The door was flung open. De Rocci stood there, gun in hand, looking up and down the hall. “Where are my men?”
“They sent me up,” she said. She hoped she sounded convincing.
De Rocci eyed her, glancing beyond her nervously, and finally gripped her arm, pulled her into the bedroom, and closed the door behind her. She had a brief moment to notice her aunt, tied to a chair in one corner, a gag over her mouth. The poor thing was wide-eyed with fear. But then all hell broke loose. De Rocci pointed his gun at M. C, yanked her weapon from her waistband, and demanded, “Give me the tape!” Before she could react, the window behind him shattered as Al swung through it like some kind of superhero.
Al landed in a ready crouch, his sword appearing in his hand so suddenly that she never saw him draw it. De Rocci whirled and fired. Aunt Kate sent a fierce look at his gun and muttered something from behind her gag. It was all over in a heartbeat. The bullet slammed into Al like a sledgehammer, knocking him to the floor. His sword skidded across the hardwood, bumping M. C.’s feet and stopping there, and before de Rocci could turn around, she had that baby in her hand. But she hesitated, trying to remember what the hell to do with it. De Rocci’s weapon was aiming at her as her fist clenched on the cool hilt.
And Al yelled, as if through grated teeth, “Parry! Dodge! Thrust!”
She sliced de Rocci’s gun hand, and he dropped the weapon, cursing furiously. He lunged forward to retrieve it, but she lashed his rear end with the flat side of the blade, and he went sprawling on his face.
Al grabbed the fallen gun and held it on de Rocci. “Enough,” Al managed. “It is over.”
“Al!” M. C. dropped to her knees where he was. He’d pulled himself into a sitting position. His shirt was soaked in blood. She reached for him.
“Not yet, chérie. Untie your aunt, and use the ropes to bind de Rocci tight. Do it now. Hurry.”
She nodded, understanding his urgency. He was going to lose consciousness soon, and he wanted to know she was safe before he did. She rapidly untied her aunt’s hands and feet. “Are you all right, Aunt Kate? Did he hurt you?”
Kate nodded yes, then shook her head no, then reached up to undo the gag while M. C. rushed across the room to truss Guido de Rocci up like a Christmas goose. When he started cussing at her, she pulled the duct tape and smacked a strip across his mouth. “You’re going down, de Rocci,” she told him. “For a long, long time!”
There was a thud behind her and she turned, her heart aching as she saw Al lying on the floor, limp and unconscious. She ran to him, fell to her knees again, and yanked the T-shirt up so she could see the damage.
“Don’t panic, Mary Catherine. The bullet didn’t hit his heart,” her aunt said softly. “It was headed that way, but I managed to give it a nudge.”
M. C. frowned when she saw Al’s wounds but didn’t avert her eyes. She tried to wipe the blood away to see the injury better. “What are you talking about? What nudge?”
“Don’t forget who I am, Mary Catherine,” Aunt Kate said. “I pushed the bullet upward. So it would only hit his shoulder, the fleshy part, if my aim was any good.”
“Al doesn’t have any ‘fleshy parts.’ “ Dabbing more blood away, M. C. caught her breath. Her aunt was absolutely right. The bullet had gone into his shoulder. She pushed a cloth tight to the wound to stop the bleeding. “I can’t believe it,” she muttered.
“How can you still doubt? M. C, you managed to conjure yourself a Musketeer, and you still don’t believe in magic?”
M. C. stroked Al’s face with one hand, pressing a cloth to the wound with the other. “If there were really such a thing as magic...,” she whispered.
“What, Mary Catherine? Tell me.”
She closed her eyes. “He’d stay.”
But he wouldn’t stay. It was over now, and she was safe. And it would soon be time for Al to return to his own time. His own duties. His own life. M. C.’s eyes burned inexplicably, and her stomach churned, and her heart felt as if it was breaking just a little bit.
“Call the police, will you, Aunt Kate? And the D.A. And an ambulance for Al.”
Aunt Kate nodded, reaching for the phone. “We won’t need the ambulance though. A scratch like that we can tend right here.” M. C. opened her mouth, but her aunt shook a finger. “Don’t you go doubting me again, young lady.”
Lowering her head, M. C. sighed. “I won’t.”
Chapter Ten
Between the two of them, Aunt Kate and M. C. managed to get Al into the bed. He came around while they were doing it, argued a bit, but finally resigned himself to submitting. He was outnumbered anyway. Sirens were screaming closer by the second, so at least de Rocci and his goon squad wouldn’t be sitting around the house much longer.
M. C. rolled her eyes and shook her head a lot when Aunt Kate used one of her concoctions on Al’s wound, but the stuff seemed to stop the bleeding almost immediately.
Frowning, she leaned over the jar and sniffed. “What’s in that stuff, anyway?”
“Some healing herbs, disinfectant, and cobwebs, dear. Now run into the bathroom and bring me some gauze and tape.”
“Cobwebs?” M. C. asked with a gasp.
Al, who’d been lying back on the pillows, sat up a little, eyes widening with alarm. “Cobwebs?” he echoed.
Aunt Kate sighed heavily. “Fine, I’ll get the bandages myself.” And with a huff she headed off to the bathroom.
M. C. sat down on the edge of the bed, and instinctively stroked Al’s dark hair away from his forehead. “Are you really okay?”
His mischievous grin appeared to reassure her, though she could still see the pain reflected in his eyes. “I have been far more grievously wounded than this, and survived, Mary Catherine. But if you wish to sit there and worry for me, I won’t object.” With his uninjured arm, he reached up, ran his hand slowly over her cheek. “You are beautiful when you are worried.”
She lowered her eyes. “You never give up, do you, Al?”
“Never. And now, chérie, you are no longer under my protection.”
She met his gaze, let him see for once that she felt the same way he did. “Unfortunately, you’re lying in bed with a hole in your shoulder at the moment.”
“It is of little importance. I will not be using my shoulder, ma petite.” His fingertips danced over her temple, and she shivered.
Licking her lips, she noted, “We have an audience.”
Then there were footsteps thundering up the stairs, and the bedroom door burst open. Uniformed officers lunged inside, weapons drawn.
“And more arriving all the time, non.?”
“Afraid so,” M. C. said. Then she turned to face the cops. “You can put those down. The bad guys are gift-wrapped and waiting for delivery.” And she nodded toward de Rocci even as she was reaching into her pocket for the tape. “That one’s the baddest of the bunch, and this tape will prove it.”
Holstering his gun, the first officer stepped forward. Another came behind him. “Y
ou’d best run outside and check on the two in the car. I don’t think the carbon monoxide has killed them yet, but...”
The second cop was gone before she could finish. The first one reached for the tape, but M. C. pulled it back. “I’d just as soon put this in the D.A.’s hands myself, if it’s all the same to you.”
The two in the car were hauled away by ambulance, while the others were taken in the backs of police cars. D.A. Hennesey insisted M. C. come with him, but she shook her head.
“I’m not going anywhere until I make sure Al’s okay.”
The D.A., a short, balding man with wire rims that made him look more like an accountant than a crime fighter, nodded. “I understand that, Ms. Hammer, but this is necessary.”
“No it isn’t. You have the tape.”
“And de Rocci has other men in his employ, if all you’ve told me is true. Once we get your statement on the record, he’ll have no reason to send them after you.”
“No reason but revenge, you mean.”
The D.A.’s brows went up. “Well, yes, there is that.”
“I’m not afraid of him.” She glanced at Al, sitting up in the bed now and sipping some brew Aunt Kate had whipped up, while Kate sat in a chair beside him to make sure he took every drop.
“Go with Monsieur Hennesey, Mary Catherine,” Al urged. “I want you safe.”
She frowned.
“I will be fine,” he promised.
“And I’ll see to it he is,” Aunt Kate said. “Go on, honey, get this over with. We have things to do, you know.” This with a meaningful glance at Al.
Things to do. Right. They had to send Al back. Holding his gaze for a long moment, M. C. said, “Don’t do anything without me, okay? I want to have a chance to say...” She couldn’t say the last word. Good-bye. It was too final. Too sudden. She didn’t want to say it now. Maybe...maybe not ever.
Al’s eyes darkened as they held hers—almost as if he were reading her thoughts. “I will be here waiting when you return, little one. I promise you.”
Nodding hard, blinking at the burning behind her eyes, M. C. turned to the D.A. “All right, let’s get this over with.”
It took forever, or at least it seemed like it did. By the time M. C. got out of the local police department where the D.A. took her statement, it was well after dark. Big, black clouds had rolled in so that not a single star was visible in the sky. Matched her mood, she thought. She figured by the time she got back, Aunt Kate would have everything ready for Al’s return trip. She’d have found the right spell in that big book of hers, and she’d have gathered up whatever obscure herbs or glittery crystals or eye of newt they might need.
Pausing at the front door, M. C. took out the photo she’d snapped of Al that first night. She’d been carrying it with her ever since. She stared down at his face, traced his shape with her finger, and wasn’t surprised when a teardrop fell from her cheek to land upon his image.
Sniffling, she tucked the photo away, and opened the front door.
The first thing she saw when she walked inside were the candles. Two rows of tall, elegant taper candles formed a path across the floor. They alternated in color, pink and red. She’d never seen so many candles all lighted at once.
She figured it must be part of whatever ritual Aunt Kate had devised.
Then the scent wafted up to tickle her nostrils, and she glanced downward. Rose petals littered the floor like confetti between the two rows of candles.
Frowning, M. C. took off her shoes, shrugged out of her jacket, and stepped onto the silky-soft path. “Aunt Kate?” she called.
No answer. But the candle-and-rose-petal path led up the stairs. And as she followed it, she heard soft music.
Lord, but this must be one complicated spell! At the top of the stairs, the path continued down the hall, and turned, going right through the open door of the guest room. “Where is everybody?” M. C. asked. Still no answer.
She moved on, into the guest room.
Candles glowed from every surface. The entire bedroom floor and the bed itself were cushioned with the tender petals. And a vase stood beside the bed with a dozen deep red buds nodding from their long, slender stalks.
And then Al came out of the shadows and crossed the room toward her. He stopped right in front of her, drew his sword, dropped to one knee, and held the weapon balanced on his upturned palms. Head bowed, he lifted it. “My gift to you, my lady,” he murmured. Then he laid it at her feet. Taking her hand in both of his, he pressed his lips to her palm. His kiss was warm, and wet, and it left her skin tingling.
And suddenly she understood. This was it, the grand seduction. The one she’d been waiting for, dreaming of, wanting, since she’d first met him. But the pleasure of her surprise was dampened by the knowledge that this was also his way of saying good-bye.
She shook that thought away as he rose, still clinging to her hand. They’d have this. They’d have this one night, to remember.
“Aunt Kate?” she asked softly.
“Out for the evening,” he replied, his voice low, tender, almost a caress in itself.
“And all of this?” She waved a hand to encompass the room.
He cupped her face between his palms. “For you,” he told her. “All this...and more, were it mine to give.”
“You certainly do know how to treat a lady.” It was meant to sound flippant, light. But her voice trembled instead.
“No, ma chérie. I have never wished to treat any lady the way I wish to treat you. I swear it on my sword.”
She blinked, her eyes burning again.
“Mary Catherine...,” he began.
“No,” she said quickly. “Don’t say any more. I hate crying, Al, and you’re putting me damned close to it.”
“But why?”
Why? Because she didn’t want to let him go, dammit! He was the first man who’d ever made her feel this way, and she knew she’d never feel it for any other. Why, when the unthinkable had finally happened to her, did it have to be with a man who couldn’t stay? How could she vow never to fall in love and then do just that, when she knew it was impossible?
Fall in love.
Oh, God, that was exactly what she’d done!
“Mary Catherine?” His eyes searched her face.
She blinked away her shock, shook her head, and slid her arms around his waist. “Shut up and kiss me already.”
He smiled. Devilish, that smile of his. Then he pulled her close, and kissed her thoroughly. His mouth worked hers, his tongue probed and explored, and locked together, they stumbled toward the bed, and fell onto its nest of rose petals.
Al never stopped kissing her as he tugged and pulled at her clothes, removing them one by one. His mouth traveled. Over her jaw, down to her throat, and lower. He muttered in French as he mouthed her breasts, and then her belly, and then her thighs. Sweet, erotic endearments, nearly as arousing as his touch.
She struggled with his clothes, too, until he pulled her into his arms without a stitch between them, and proceeded to make love to her more sweetly than she’d ever imagined possible.
And when her climax mingled with his, and she whispered his name, she knew she loved him even more now than she had before.
What, oh what, was she ever going to do without him?
They lay twined together for a long time as the candles burned low, Al stroking her hair, her back, holding her close and tenderly in his arms. But finally, he sat up a bit, looked down at her almost adoringly, and whispered, “It is time, chérie.”
“I know,” she whispered, and she couldn’t keep her feelings in check any longer. M. C. Hammer, tough-as-nails lady detective, began to cry.
“Mary Catherine! What is wrong?”
She sniffled, tried to stop the tears, but failed. The touch of his gentle fingers on her damp cheeks only made her cry even harder. “I—I’m sorry, Al. I just...I just wish you didn’t have to go.”
“Go? Go? But my love, I thought you understood!”
She blinked, staring up at him. “Understood...what?”
“I gave you my sword. Sweet Mary Catherine, with it goes my heart. I told you once that I would only give up my sword for the woman who would be my true love, did I not?”
Shaking her head slowly, she stared at him.
“I love you, Lady Hammer. And love is more important than anything else. More important than life or death...or time itself. I will die before I will leave you, my love...if...” He searched her face, then turned his gaze away.
“If?” she prompted.
“If you feel the same,” he told her softly, not looking at her, almost as if he were afraid to look at her.
Her heart swelled until she thought it would burst, and she ran one hand through his satin hair. “Oh, I do,” she whispered. “Al, I really, really do. I love you.”
He turned to meet her eyes, his wide and brimming. “Ah, ma chérie, do you mean it?”
She nodded hard. “But Al, can you really stay? Are you sure you want to?”
“I would live upon the moon itself, if it meant I could be at your side, my love.” He kissed her, long and lingeringly. Then holding her nestled against his chest, he continued. “I have no ties to the past that would require my return. Your Aunt Kate said the decision to stay or to go was mine. And you yourself told me my gold coins are worth a fortune, Mary Catherine, so I can make my way.”
“Oh, I have a few ideas about how you can earn a living, Al. You’re not without certain job skills, you know.”
“No?”
She nibbled his chin. “You sure you won’t mind having a witch in the family?” she asked him.
“If you can tolerate a Musketeer as a husband, then I can withstand a witch as an aunt,” he whispered.
M. C. blinked. “H—husband?”
“Oui. If you will have me.”
Her smile was slow, but straight from the heart. “You’d better believe I will. And Al, there’s another partnership I have in mind for us. Besides marriage, I mean.”
“Oh, is there?”
She nodded. “Umm-hmm. But...um... we can talk about that in the morning.” She pressed closer to him, curled her arms around his strong shoulders, and pulled him to her for another kiss.
Three Witches and a Zombie Page 15
