Annie's Song

by Cate Dean

  “Yes, pregnant—expecting, with child, baby on board. Oh, God.” She lowered herself to the edge of the tub, covered her face. “I’m pregnant, Eric.”

  He touched her wrist, his voice quiet, raw. “You’re sure?”

  “Last I checked, the damn tests rarely make a mistake—especially three times in a row.”

  “We’re going to have a baby.” She peeked through her hands, terrified of what she would see. The smile that lit up his face shook her. He cradled her face, kissed her, so tender, so gentle, tears stung her eyes. “I love you, blondie.”

  “Good thing, because now you’re stuck with me.”

  “Both of you.” He laid his hand on her stomach. “God, Annie—I thought you were dying. You scared the hell out of me these last few days.” He kissed her again, then knelt in front of her, touching her stomach. “Hey, there. I’m your daddy.” She smiled down at him, tears filling her eyes. “Welcome to the world, little one.” He kissed her stomach. She slid her hands into his hair, hoping their child would inherit the thick, sandy waves instead of her wild curls. She wouldn’t wish those on her worst enemy. His hands moved up, caught her hips, eased her down until she sat in his lap. He wrapped his arms around her, and buried his face in her hair. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

  “You’re not mad.”

  Leaning back, he met her eyes. “Why would I be mad? I love you, Annie, and we wanted children—”

  “Yeah. Someday. Not today.”

  He smiled. “I don’t think it’s going to happen today.”

  “Smartass.” She laid her head on his shoulder, gingerly touching her stomach. “I don’t know if I’m ready—or if I’m even cut out to be a mother. I had the greatest mom in the world, but I never had her patience, her kindness, her ability to cut through the bullshit I threw at her—”

  “Annie.” Laughter edged his voice. “You just described yourself.”

  “Are you kidding me? I have so little patience I can hardly stand myself sometimes—”

  He laid one finger on her lips. “I’ve watched you maneuver Mildred at the store, without so much as losing your smile. She would test the patience of a saint. And you’re beautiful to watch with Zach. He adores you—and our kids will adore you, as much as I do.”

  “Damn.” She slid her hands up his chest, one finger tracing the design on his sweater. “I wanted to be mad at you. My so-sexy-it-was-going-to-make-your-jaw-drop gown isn’t going to fit. Not that I can wear it, since it’s at the bridal shop, waiting to be fitted, and I decided to have an impromptu wedding in a foreign country.”

  “I don’t care what you’re wearing—though I’d like to see that dress,” he winked at her, “before it doesn’t fit.”

  “I was wrong.” She pushed at his chest, trying not to smile. “You’re just an ass.”

  Laughing, he gathered her up, nuzzled her neck. “How about a nap, mama-to-be?”

  The enormity of it left her breathless, but energized.

  “No—I need to move. Can you give me an hour? I need to absorb this.”

  “Sure.” Helping her up, he kept his arm around her, escorted her out of the bathroom and to the door, grabbing her blue leather jacket off the coat rack. “We’ll need to make some decisions when you come back.”

  She halted, her jacket only half on. “You mean about telling people?”

  “That, and the wedding, to start. If you want to wait until after . . . we can talk about it when you get back.” That hesitation clearly told her he didn’t want to wait.

  She shoved her other arm in her jacket and brushed hair off her forehead. “Okay—I have more to think about than I thought.” She smiled, shaking her head. “And with that pithy statement, I’m out of here.”

  Eric stopped her, framed her face with his hands, kissed her. “If you’re up for it, we’ll celebrate when you get back.”

  She nodded, her throat too tight to get any words through, and wandered out of the hotel. Turning right, she walked down the alley next to the hotel, and out to the patchwork fields behind it.

  Before she realized where she wanted to go, she was heading for the standing stones she read about in the paper. Most of them still stood, casting shadows on the grass. On this rare sunny day, they were bathed in the clear yellow light, looking otherworldly in the wind blown field, surrounded by bleating sheep. She and Eric had been so busy with other sites, she hadn’t had the chance to visit them until now.

  She stopped in between two of the leaning stones. They were at least ten feet high, and oddly graceful, smoothed and shaped by centuries of wind and weather—

  “Jeez—where did that come from?” She wasn’t fanciful—hell, even her approach to witchcraft was practical. Eric, she thought. Eric made her believe in pretty much everything.

  As she stood still, one hand on the surprisingly warm stone, she felt the ley lines that supposedly ran across this entire part of the country, humming under her feet.

  She felt it, and couldn’t deny it. This place held magic. Powerful magic, that pulled her in, called to her own power. As she let the silence surround her, she felt her sapphire ring warm against her finger. After the last few years as Claire’s friend, standing in the middle of the impossible, she thought she couldn’t be surprised by anything.

  But the south of England surprised her—with its long stretches of green field, populated only by sheep, cows, and the occasional farmstead. There were postcard perfect villages, where they’d been welcomed with a warmth she didn’t expect, and the soft, quiet beauty of the land. She’d never seen anything like it, and it took her by surprise, again, every time she ventured out. It also soothed, in a way she didn’t expect from anywhere but her beloved beach at home.

  She needed that sense of peace now, her thoughts crashing against each other. Still a little shaky, she leaned against the stone, one hand on her stomach.

  “God,” she whispered, staring at the ground. “How am I going to do this?”

  Torn grass caught her eye. She followed it—and anger gave her a boost of adrenaline when she saw the damage.

  “Damn stupid asshat. How could they do that?”

  She made her way to the standing stone, now at a dangerous angle. The paper said that archaeologists were on their way to assess and help repair the damage done to the circle. They obviously hadn’t come yet.

  She smelled the intruder just before the high-pitched voice scraped across her skin.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Annie turned, and almost ran into the owner. The short, overweight woman looked ridiculous in the heavy black cloak, the tight black dress she wore underneath accentuating every roll. Patchouli surrounded her, the wind blowing it around the circle. Annie tried to shallow breathe so she wouldn’t swallow any of the stench. Man, she hated patchouli. And it didn’t help the nausea just waiting to jump her again.

  “I wanted to see the standing stones I’ve read about in the paper,” Annie said. Pale grey eyes stared up at her, made Annie want to lay down a protection spell. They were intense, and not quite sane.

  “You do not belong here. You have no right to this place or the . . .” Her voice faded, wide eyes moving down to Annie’s hand. Her ring sparked in response, and the woman gasped. “You will not cast—”

  “I don’t attack other witches.” Not that this woman’s meager power qualified. Despite the costume, she didn’t have what Annie thought of as the scent of a witch; a certain, indefinable presence. Claire had it in spades, even with her diminished power. “But if you want to be alone, I’ll be happy to go.” She already felt nauseous again, and had a feeling the power humming around her was only part of the reason. The patchouli rolling off this woman didn’t help.

  “Go—and do not return. This is my place, and it belongs to me.” She backed away from Annie, anger pouring off her. “It will be mine!”

  Before Annie could ask what the hell that was about, the woman took off, running across the field and back to town.

  “Okay—th
at wasn’t weird or anything.”

  For some reason, the woman reminded her of Mildred. Smiling at the thought, she waved away the spicy-sweet fumes, bent down to check out the damage, and touched the raw ground. Power shot through her, a jolt of pure, blinding light. And edged with a heat she knew she had felt before.

  She stumbled backward, her own power on sudden overdrive. It revved through her, left her feeling like she could conquer anything—and completely out of control. The combination had her head spinning.

  Annie grabbed for the nearest stone, felt her fingers slip along the smooth surface as she headed for the ground.

  Strong hands caught her inches from a painful faceplant.

  “I’ve got you.” The smooth, feminine voice stopped her knee jerk retaliation. Not that she had the energy to actually retaliate. “Easy now.” Those hands lowered Annie to her back. “Just lie still for a few minutes, until you catch your breath.”

  “Okay—just dizzy.” Annie cringed at her raw whisper, pried her lids apart. Dark brown eyes studied her, surrounded by a rich, deep ring of gold. “You’re American.”

  “An expat. And you’re a witch.” She smiled at Annie’s surprise. “I know my own when I meet them, little sister.” She touched Annie’s ring, the sapphire sparking under her finger. “A powerful protection stone. I’m Penn.”

  “Annie.”

  “Hi, Annie.” She leaned forward. Black hair cloaked her, falling almost to her waist. Annie loved the rebellious aqua blue streaks that broke up the black. “Is the power surge gone?”

  “Yes.” Annie started to push herself up, let out a groan. “Most of it.” With a smile, Penn helped her sit. “Thank you.”

  “Glad I was here to help. I see you met our resident wannabe.”

  “Did the hippie stench give her away?” Penn laughed, and Annie’s head cleared a little more. “She seemed mighty pissed that I was even out here.”

  “Diana—she views this as her private worship spot. Never mind that it belongs to the local preservation society, and is on public land.” Penn shook her head. “And she seems to be even more off than usual.” She caught her streaked hair when a gust of wind tugged at it. “A storm’s coming in. Again. We should get you back to town.” Annie used the stone for support as Penn helped her up. She hated how shaky she felt, and how vulnerable that made her.

  “It’s something, isn’t it?” Penn said. Annie stared down at her. “How your own power is magnified, like it’s glowing, just under your skin. Being here is like tapping into the main artery. It’s a high you’ll miss when you leave, standing so close to such ancient power.” She smiled. “True facts. That high is the reason I came back.”

  Annie liked her—and had a feeling she’d just met her match for smart comments. “Penn—is that short for something?”

  “Penni Marie. Not exactly the name to inspire potential customers, so I shortened it.”

  “Customers—you have a store?”

  Penn nodded. “The only New Age shop in town.”

  “Get out—I run one back home, with a friend of mine. I’d love to see it.”

  “Come by any time. But first,” Penn wrapped one arm around Annie’s waist when she bobbled. “Let’s get you back to where you’re staying. Your energy is pale, and it’s not good for the baby.”

  Startled, Annie stared at her. “Jeez—does everyone know?”

  Penn laughed. “You bought three pregnancy tests. At the local chemist. News spreads fast in Briarton. So, yes, everyone knows.”

  She kept talking as she led Annie back to the hotel, distracting her from the weakness that kept trying to buckle her knees. As someone who had been athletic her entire life, with few injuries, this vulnerability scared her more than she let on. And Penn seemed to sense that, because she didn’t touch on it.

  “So.” Penn stopped in front of the small waterfront hotel. “Home at last.”

  Annie sighed. “No secrets.”

  “Especially when you’re the only American tourists in a ten mile radius.” She smiled. “And there’s your gorgeous fiancé. I’ll let him take over.”

  “Annie!” Eric vaulted down the front steps. “Where have you been? What happened?” He all but yanked her out of Penn’s grasp. “Who the hell are you?”

  “The damn good Samaritan who helped me get home. Now apologize.”

  He took a deep breath, ran one hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I was just worried.” He looked at Annie. “Especially when my fiancée disappears for several hours.”

  “What?” Annie stared at him. “I wasn’t gone that long.”

  “Look at the horizon, Annie. Where was the sun when you left?”

  “It was early afternoon . . .” Her voice faded as she watched the sun touch the water, orange light flaring across its surface. “How—”

  “The standing stones,” Penn said. She laid a hand on Annie’s wrist, touched Eric’s arm. His eyes widened, then he let out his breath, the anger on his face easing. “Inside that circle, time can be—fluid. True fact.” Her statement had Annie smiling. Claire would like Penn, as a witch, and a person “Welcome to England.” Warmth spread through Annie’s arm; she blinked, met Penn’s gaze. She had the energy of a healer. “Get some rest, Annie. I’ll look forward to seeing you in my shop. And I have to tell you, I covet that jacket.” Her fingers brushed the cuff. “I may need one of my own.”

  Penn let go of them, snapped her fingers. A business card appeared, the same brilliant turquoise as her hair. She tucked it in Annie’s hand, patted her cheek, and strolled down the sidewalk, obviously used to the attention the locals gave her.

  Eric cleared his throat. “She’s the real thing, isn’t she?”

  “And I’m not?”

  He stepped out of punching range. “That’s not what I meant, sweetheart. I am just as in awe of you. She’s simply more—obvious. I like subtle.” He moved in, both hands closing over her fist. “I like you, blondie.”

  “I like you back, handsome.” Tears stung her eyes, the anger leaving as fast as it appeared. “Oh, God—am I going to be an emotional psycho the whole nine months?”

  “Probably.” He laughed. “We’ll get through it. You want this, don’t you?”

  “More than I expected.” And it surprised her, how much she already loved the idea of a baby. Their baby. “I’m scared out of my mind, Eric. What if I’m no good at this mommy thing?”

  “Annie.” He tugged her forward. She pressed her face into his shoulder, comforted by the feel of his arms around her. “You are going to be an extraordinary mother. And we’re going to be a family.” His lips brushed her hair. “We’re going to be a family, Annie.”

  She heard the grief edging his voice, tightened her grip on him. More than anything, she wanted to help him get past the pain that still haunted him, the blame he still carried from his sister Katelyn’s death. Creating their own child was a huge step in that direction.

  Sliding her hands up, she framed his face. “I’d kill for a steak.” He smiled, just like she planned. “Feed me, handsome.”

  “After we make some calls. I want to share our news with everyone.”

  “Eric.” God, she wanted to shout the news, but it was so new, and there was always the chance—her mind refused to finish that thought. “Don’t you think we should wait, until we’re sure?”

  “Can you keep this secret from Claire?” He touched her cheek. “She’d want to know, even if something did happen. And I know you’re dying to tell her.”

  “Let’s eat first, so I can think about it.”

  Eric smiled at her, led her up the steps of the hotel, treating her like she was made of glass. Since she felt kind of fragile at the moment, she didn’t complain.

  Even though she knew she should keep the news close, make sure everything was all right with her, with the baby, she had already made up her mind.

  And she couldn’t wait to tell Claire.

  SEVEN

  Claire shook her head, watching Marcus as he
walked down the dark alley behind her house, headed for his Jag.

  He was courting her.

  Without using any of his considerable charm, or his Jinn hocus pocus, he managed to work his way into her heart. Into the life she created with Zach.

  She rubbed the bridge of her nose. Zach. He rolled his eyes every time she mentioned Marcus, and avoided him like he was contagious. Claire knew part of the animosity was Zach protecting her. She was afraid he felt threatened by Marcus, that he was unsure of his place in Claire’s life.

  How many ways could she tell him that he was her life? That her life before him felt empty and hollow in comparison?

  With a sigh, she closed the door, leaned against it. She could hear Zach in his room, typing on his laptop. He loved research, the power of information, and never seemed to get enough of it. His intelligence still startled her. The fact that he could hold his own with any adult, on pretty much any subject, had her both proud and concerned.

  He became less a boy, and more a curiosity as the days passed. Knowing he didn’t believe her transparent story about his past left her even more uncertain. She didn’t know how much to tell him, or how to tell him about who he really was. What he had been.

  He would have to know—if only to keep him safe.

  She moved through the house, turning off lights as she went. Zach had a compulsive habit of flipping every light switch he passed, and leaving it on, no matter what time of day. Stopping in front of his door, she knocked.

  “Ten minutes, Zach. You have school in the morning.”

  “Mom—”

  “Ten minutes.”

  She smiled when he huffed. “Fine.”

  “Good night, sweetheart.”

  She was getting ready to shut her own door when he bounded out of his room. “Did you make another date with—him?”

  “His name is Marcus, and yes, I did. He is a friend, Zach.”

  “Friends don’t make out on the back porch.”

  “Zachariah.” Claire caught his arm before he could escape. “Were you spying on me?” He muttered, staring down at the floor. “Answer me.”