Rupert seized Monty’s hand and squeezed it. Nothing more was said and Monty soon drifted back to sleep. Rupert was one of the good guys. And Madison might still like him.
Chapter 29
THE MCCAIN FAMILY had been walking in tall cotton since Napoleon was in knee pants.
Whether Jackson owned the grand merchant’s house here in Oxford or rented it, Madison’s suspicions were confirmed. The Victorian building, its interior in stainless steel and oak, was way beyond the means of a young Christ Church fellow.
She walked on the sanded floorboards to the open fireplace and warmed her hands. Her cursing episode had been the final straw. Her lack of control not only humiliated but scared the shit out of her.
God knew she had been rational about her situation until now. She had researched books at the Bodleian Library, drunk tea with a genealogist, and almost restrained herself from any magic tricks.
The time had come for her to use her powers instead of letting them use her. Whatever the risks to her sanity. She owed it to Robert and Sarah. She owed it to herself and to the LeBon women who had come before her.
Her meeting with Archie Black had brought new material to her research, but it had also raised more questions. So today she intended to contact the ghosts, rather than wait for them.
Robert’s father had wanted him to marry into the aristocracy to solidify his claim to the title. But Robert had been in love with someone else and had opposed the marriage, until he gave in and married the Lady Elizabeth in April 1651.
Maybe Sarah had already been dead and Robert had obeyed his father because he had nothing else to live for. Five months later he died fighting for his king anyway … having sired a bastard of his own.
Good heavenly days. Shakespeare Burton had uncovered a seventeenth-century soap opera.
“I’ve found some matches.” Jackson entered the living room, waving a small box and pulling Madison back to the here and now.
In the journey ahead of her, she needed the support of the person who remained unfazed by her witchy madness, the person who made her powers feel tenfold stronger. To take the next step, Madison trusted Jackson. She wanted to have him by her side and he was eager to learn about her heritage.
“Do we have a plan? I mean, are you clear about what you want to ask?” He was straight to the point.
“I’ve been chewing on what I learned from the genealogist for almost two weeks. There are many questions I need to ask.”
“Like what?”
“Why did Sarah and Robert not get married? And if the rumors of an illegitimate child were true, was Sarah the mother? Robert might have been an awful womanizer who impregnated women across the Kingdom.”
“Maybe … I wonder how Shakespeare Burton knew about Robert’s story, though.” Jackson took a pause, then continued. “He must have found something, heard something, during his stay at Magway. His inspiration couldn’t just have come from looking at Robert’s portrait. Burton knew more.”
Madison nodded, but this wasn’t a question her ghosts could answer. “I think we should start.”
She opened her satchel and spread its contents on the floor around her: Robert’s cape, some incense sticks, the “little” book of magic, and a gris-gris. Mamie had given her the last two items when Madison had left Pierre Part to return to England.
“I’ve read about Louisiana voodoo, but still need to get up to speed. I don’t see the dolls and snakes, though.” A smile twisted Jackson’s mouth upward.
Mamie would have had such a laugh right now. “The world has so many misconceptions influenced by Hollywood. Voodoo isn’t all about hexing and sticking pins into dolls. In our religion, we believe spirits preside over everyday life, and we gave them the names of Catholic saints.”
“Are you going to follow the rituals performed by past voodoo queens of your family?”
“One of my ancestors was the Marie Laveau of her time. She was a respected voodoo queen, and New Orleans people would ask for her help.” Cold blood shot a chill through her veins. The woman had thrown herself in the Mississippi. “My grandmother is a voodoo priestess, or medicine woman. She was initiated in the New Orleans tradition and earns an income by administering charms, blessing amulets and giving away curative powders.”
“And other voodoo priestesses, can they see dead people like you do?” The professor had pinpointed what Madison considered her real curse.
“No, they don’t. When voodoo believers invoke spirits, they mean deities, small gods, not the restless souls of the deceased. This whole psychic drama is my family specialty.” She tried to deliver the information lightly, but nearly choked on the words.
Jackson sat now cross-legged on the rug beside the fire opposite her, the holy possessions scattered between them. Her sticky palms lay on her thighs to steady their shaking. Madison wasn’t sure she could pull this one off.
Jackson echoed her self-doubts. “I’m not sure you’re in the right state of mind for this.”
She wasn’t sure either, but what did he mean exactly?
Jackson coughed, his eyes glued on the wooden floor. “Miss Lindsey mentioned she saw you one night with Rupert Vance.”
The senior censor had spied on them when Rupert spent the night in her room and had reported her findings to her crush. By gossiping, she had probably hoped to upgrade her profile in the professor’s eyes. Madison made a mental note to brew a custom-made curse for dear Miss Lindsey.
“She must be confused. I spend time with Rupert because of our common assignments, but that’s it.” She was lying and she knew he knew it.
“Just be careful. The first time one falls in love, it can be confusing.” Jackson looked straight at her. “We don’t know each other well enough for me to tell you this. I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.” His stare reached into her defenses. She wanted to lean against him, confide in him and cry.
Falling in love for the first time was damned confusing, yes. Damned painful too, if the feeling wasn’t reciprocated.
She shook the self-pity away. She had to forge ahead. Robert and Sarah needed her, and she was so looking forward to kicking Peter’s ass. “Please, light the incense and blow out the flame. We have to allow time for the jasmine fragrance to rise.”
Jackson’s expression faltered, but he recovered. He lighted the incense stick and closed the shutters over the bow windows. The room was now dark enough for Madison to enter a trance-like state. She focused on the flames in the fireplace, and their shadows flickered against the white walls.
Holding tight to the small leather pouch of the gris-gris, she shared one last piece of information. “I’m going to invoke Saint Expedite. She’s the spirit standing between life and death.”
Jackson nodded and mirrored her when she made the sign of the cross and started reciting the Lord’s Prayer. Hail Mary followed on. Soon, their two voices became one and rose toward the high ceilings, while they repeated the prayers, one after the other.
The scent of the incense tingled inside Madison’s nostrils. Jasmine should help the meditation and allow her thoughts to center on the working.
At least, that was the theory.
Perhaps Saint Expedite wasn’t in any hurry to intercede on her behalf with the dead.
Where were the spirits when you needed them?
Shit.
“I can’t do it.”
Jackson opened his eyes, and she repeated her frustration. “It’s not working.”
“You’re putting too much pressure on yourself. We can try again later.”
Defeat made her shoulders slump.
He leaned toward the incense sticks and cut off their ashened tops, while Madison laid her hands on Robert’s cape on the floor in front of her.
In a whoosh, the world around her disappeared, and she now held the Cavalier’s hand, his trembling hand.
They stood in a graveyard. The pale rays of the sun warmed her face, but she shivered. Madison looked into his eyes. They were red-rimmed a
nd swollen from too many tears.
She didn’t ask him why he had been crying, but instead followed his downcast gaze to the tomb lying at their feet. On the headstone, she read the chiseled name: Sarah Perkins.
Below she could read a date: June 1651.
Robert’s voice, weak and raspy, shuddered with shock. “Peter Perkins killed her. He married her and he killed her.”
The same whoosh flashed in front of Madison’s eyes. Her cheek now rested on the cold surface of the wooden floor in Jackson’s home.
“What has he done to you?” Jackson lifted her upper body and cradled her against his chest, rocking her back and forth. He held her face, covered with a flow of tears. Their eyes locked.
Madison spoke. “She married Peter. Why? Why did she do that?”
Chapter 30
FOR HER TWENTY-SECOND birthday, Madison wanted to have fun.
She wanted to forget and pretend her life was in perfect order. No ghost, no murderer, not even an English guy to dump her butt before they had even started dating. She had lifted her hair into a thick bun, applied a generous layer of makeup and put on Pippa’s black mini-skirt.
Oxford, here I am!
At her table that evening, only Jackson knew about her involvement in that supernatural business of hers. The others there, Pippa and Ollie, were too much into themselves to worry about anything aside from their over-active sex lives. And here was the birthday girl, alone and lonely because she’d been stupid enough to fall for a jerk.
Well, she would move on. Rupert wouldn’t hurt her anymore.
Sitting on a plain pine chair with metal legs, Madison looked around one of the strangest places she had ever found herself in. Freud’s was a shabby-chic bar on the edge of the historic suburb of Jericho, and a popular undergraduate hangout. The dark doors of the converted church opened onto a room of palatial size, complete with stained-glass windows and austere drapes hanging from a high ceiling.
“I’ll have a holy Freud lemonade, please. Whatever that is,” she shouted across to Ollie, struggling to make herself heard over the music played by a live jazz band.
Ollie paraded toward the long, bronze bar, holding onto his girlfriend’s hand. Pippa hadn’t yet reverted to her normal bubbly self since the pedicure bust-up. But Madison chose to ignore the girl’s grudge over Rupert. Pippa had Ollie, a good guy smitten with her, so she had nothing to complain about.
Madison didn’t have anyone. She had seen Rupert again since the nearly cursing episode. They had to, because they were still study partners. They had been civil to each other. He had even inquired about her birthday plans, but nothing was the same between them anymore. With his housemate in hospital, Rupert had already forgotten about her.
She turned her attention back to Jackson, who sat across the Formica table cradling a pint of Guinness. Since she was in a lighthearted mood, Madison didn’t even consider how appropriate, or not, the presence of her “boss” at her birthday dinner was. She would also ignore the hungry eyes of the female clientele on him.
For someone who spent so much time with the hottest guys at uni, how could she still be single and a virgin?
With Ollie and Pippa out of ear’s reach, Jackson leaned over the table. “I don’t think you should experiment with your powers without someone by your side from now on.”
He had kept his voice low, but Madison stared around her in panic to check nobody had overheard. Since her voodoo demo, he had morphed into her unofficial bodyguard.
“At least now we have a surname and a date for Sarah’s death. I’ll be fine. My ancestors have practiced these rituals for centuries.” Most of them had hanged themselves, drowned in the Mississippi, or struck lucky and died in a nuthouse. “I just need to get used to it.” As if …
Madison saw how much he wanted to make his point, but tonight, he restrained himself.
Instead, he held his eyes fixed on his half-empty glass and said, “I wish I could protect you. I think you’re in danger.”
Madison’s heart skipped a beat.
“On top of that, I shouldn’t have let Vance close to you. He’s hurting you, even if you’re trying hard to hide it.”
She gave a fake shrug. Rupert’s cruelty still stung, but Madison wouldn’t let thoughts of him ruin her evening. “You make it sound worse than it is.”
Her tutor shook his head. “First loves are always so confusing.” He had already spoken those same words a few days earlier.
On a gut instinct Madison said, “You’ve been hurt.”
She sought his eyes, but they were back on his beer. Sadness had cast a shadow on his tanned face.
“She was my high-school sweetheart. I proposed during my first Christmas break from Yale. We got engaged. When I graduated, she was pregnant … with someone else’s child.” He released a bitter laugh. “How pathetic I was.”
“She was the pathetic one, not you.” It was Madison’s turn to lean forward and lay her hand on his.
That’s when she saw the future Lord Vance. He was standing rigid ten feet away, staring at her hand clasped over Jackson’s.
Rupert was holding a bright bouquet of red roses.
Was the bouquet meant for her?
Before she could ask Rupert the question, he stormed out. Her muddied thoughts registered Ollie and Pippa’s smiling faces coming back from the bar, and her hand still joined with McCain’s.
Rupert must have assumed … The jerk. He played around, so when she touched a friend he thought she must be screwing him. She’d tell him a thing or two.
“I’m sorry. I need to get out.” She took back possession of her hand, and in a clumsy movement put her jacket on.
“He’s not worthy of you,” Jackson warned her. The fire in his eyes betrayed his anger. “Don’t go after him.”
But she had to.
Outside the January wind bit at her legs. She cursed herself for dressing up and depending on the thin barrier of her woolen tights for warmth. Short skirts in the middle of the winter had been a stupid choice, driven by a bruised ego.
“Having a good time, missie?” Mocked a familiar voice. Vance.
Madison jumped around to find the object of her thoughts a few paces back of her. He still wore the same angry expression, tinted by disdain. The roses had gone, probably dumped somewhere.
“You knew I was celebrating my birthday at Freud’s. What do you want?” Her question had an aggressive edge.
“Just passing by. You look gorgeous tonight. You tarted yourself up for your beloved Doctor McCain.” His legs were apart, his jaw clenched and shoulders squared.
His height gave him the commanding ground, but he didn’t scare her. “Shut up. Jackson and I were just talking. You have no right—”
“I have every right. I came tonight to bring you flowers for your birthday. I’m not letting some nerd take what should be mine.” Rupert crossed the short distance between them and towered over her.
Resentment burst from Madison’s body. His words had pushed her temper to the edge.
“I’m not yours. As I’ve already told you, Rupert, you’re in no position to give your opinion.” She enunciated every word, anger flaring up in her throat. “I’ve always been nice to you. I never disrespected you, and now you’ve proved you’re the loser I thought you were when I first met you.”
“And Captain America is a winner, your knight in shining armor. That’s what sweet girls like you dream of. A perfect, clean-cut hero.”
Madison shot him back an unblinking stare. “You have serious issues, Vance,” she said, her hands on her hips, demanding an explanation, but he didn’t flinch or answer.
Frustrated, she turned and marched away. He reached out and grabbed her arm. In reaction, she struggled to free herself, but he pulled her tight against his chest.
His kiss was demanding and hard, saying that he needed her. His lips tasted of vulnerability, and of something else Madison couldn’t define. Her mental faculties had gone AWOL.
In pressing his m
outh against hers, Rupert had seized the back of her head, burying his fingers in the thickness of her bun. With his other hand, he cupped her bottom and pulled her against him. A groan escaped from his mouth.
Tenderness had vanished. He wanted to possess her, and his stamp of ownership burnt her self-respect. The last time a man touched her like this, she was nearly raped.
Panic took over. She froze inside. She couldn’t be outmatched that way, ever again.
She pushed him away, and, with all the strength she could muster, slapped his face.
Rupert’s expression went blank. Stunned, as if waking up from a deep sleep, he laid his hand where she had hit him. Her fingers had left pink traces on his skin.
Taking advantage of his shock, she darted away. After a few steps he caught up with her.
“Forgive me. I’ve no idea why I just did that.” Rupert took hold of both her arms, but with none of the pressure he had used before. He hardly touched her. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I reacted that way. I can’t believe that you and McCain …”
“Jackson and I are friends,” she interrupted and looked around them. “Anyway, I can’t see your girlfriend. She doesn’t come with you when you stalk other women.”
Rupert stepped back from her. “I broke up with Harriet right after the Christmas break. I should never have started anything with her in the first place. I hadn’t met you yet. I had no idea how it felt like…”
He let his sentence hang between them, and a bittersweet sense of victory raced through Madison’s veins.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she lied. “From what I know about Harriet’s personality, you two made a perfect match.”
It was low, and she knew it.
“Maddie, hear me out. I know how I’ve treated you, tonight and when you came to my place last week. Please forgive me.” His face showed real regret, and she imagined she saw tears glistening in his eyes. “Believe me or not, but I only wanted to protect you. I thought that if I behaved like an asshole you would walk away without looking back. But I’m not that jerk anymore. I’m better than him.”
Oxford Whispers Page 16
