I followed the flagstones placed in the shell-littered ground to the back entrance. With my heart performing a bizarre dance beneath my breasts, I made my way through the stylish manor. I glanced at the enormous oil paintings of men in full beards and dark suits as they posed next to women in tight bodices and voluminous skirts, their upswept hair arranged in a multitude of curls. The muted lighting throughout the bed-and-breakfast emphasized the surrealism of the establishment. For just an instant, it was as though I were in the 1800s.
The stairway harbored more oil paintings, some from the period, some from modern day artists who obviously preferred sea themes boasting old galleons and stormy skies. Heavy sconces supported battery-operated candles. As I ascended each carpeted step, I wondered how many women had climbed them before me. How many ladies of the past had carried blame in their hearts? How many of them bore dark secrets they feared would find the light of day?
For now, the only woman who fit that description was me.
“RUBY NUTTER, BRING HIM TO US.”
The sudden voice shocked me into stillness. My shoulder bumped the wall, and I leaned there under a painting of a beautiful redheaded woman.
“BRING HIM TO US. HE’S IN DANGER TOO.”
Solomon?
Sorrow flowed through me. Pain and regret rode in on its waves. I’d inevitably hurt him through association with me.
“TIME IS RUNNING OUT, RUBY. THE OTHERS ARE GETTING TOO CLOSE. YOU MUST HURRY!”
The voice galvanized me into action. Using my key, I entered the room and rummaged in my handbag for the hidden phone number.
The phone rested on the bedside table placed between the twin beds. With a deep breath, I snatched the portable out of the base and quickly unfolded the paper.
Each digit beeped on the touch pad. I waited. The line rang five times. About to hit the disconnect button, I nearly dropped the receiver when someone answered.
“Hello?”
My voice evaporated with the residual scents of lavender and roses floating from the bathroom and out through the open French doors.
“Hello?” a woman asked a bit more forcefully.
“Uh, hi.” I hated the quiver in my voice. “Mrs. Gottrick, this is—”
“I know who you are.”
Shocked into silence, I mentally rifled through my brain for something intelligent to say.
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Gottrick finally said after my long pause. “I don’t mean to be rude. Are you in St. Augustine now?”
“Yes.” Something flipped over in my stomach, and for a moment I thought I might hurl all over Maureen’s bed.
“Do you still want to see Anthony?”
“Yes.” If my heart beat any harder I worried it would explode.
“All right, Ruby.” Papers rustled on the end of the line, and the woman sighed. In my mind’s eye, I saw her studying some sort of gadget with an electronic calendar. “I’ll take Anthony to the Castillo De San Marcos. Be at the entrance gate tomorrow afternoon and follow us through as we tour the site. That way he’ll think you’re just another tourist. Agreed?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, two o’clock tomorrow. Until then,” she said.
The line clicked.
My knees shook so badly I collapsed on the bed.
I was such a wuss and a dumbass. I’d gathered all the courage I could only to say yes three times? The woman must think I’m an idiot.
After several minutes, I remembered Solomon waited for me on the patio with my drink. Quickly, I slipped into a pair of shorts and a tank top, stepped into my flip-flops, and hurried downstairs, my gaze avoiding the accusing stares of those immortalized on canvas.
A string of Chinese lanterns and a few sets of red novelty chili peppers glowed from wires threaded through the night-blooming trees. Half the guests had retired to their rooms, including the three witches. Maureen sat at a wrought-iron table playing Parcheesi with an elderly black man. Next to the fountain of a lion, Solomon reclined on a glider. He waved at me and motioned toward a cup sitting on the little table placed in front of the glider.
“What took you so long?” he asked.
“The phone call took longer than I expected.”
Skeptical, he studied me, his pale eyes glowing eerily. Somehow he sensed I’d lied to him.
“I’m going to walk Mr. Jebbstart to his room,” Maureen announced. “I think I’m going to go to bed too. My skin is still tender, and I can’t stand wearing this dress any longer.”
“I’ll be up later,” I told her.
The black man ambled over to Maureen, offered her his arm and bid us all goodnight. They strolled up the flagstone path to the rear entrance.
“There just went the next Anna Nicole Smith,” I muttered under my breath.
“Hey, cut Maureen some slack.”
Solomon’s comment shot a needle of regret into my gut. He was right. I was taking my frustrations and stress out on Maureen.
“Sorry.”
“What’s up with you?” He stretched his arm across the back of the glider, his fingers resting on the rounded portion of my shoulder. The delicate touch sent sparks zipping to my innermost region. “You’ve been uptight all evening, more so than usual.”
I shrugged.
“Come on, you can tell me.”
“I have trust issues, remember?”
He blinked. “I told you about me and Gabriella. That wasn’t easy, and it’s not something I’ve discussed with anyone other than my parents and Sam.”
“Lucky me.”
“Wow, you can be a royal witch when you want to.”
The word “witch” sliced through me like a shard of ice. I substituted the W for a B. Sometimes I “had” to be a bitch. It was all I had to keep me strong, to prevent those in the world from destroying me like before and also it served in helping me deal with my father. Sure, Solomon wanted to know more about me, but I didn’t want to tell him the long, sordid history, and he should have respected that.
Besides, if I did tell him, he’d call someone and have me hauled away to a room with padded walls.
I picked up my cup of liquor-laced coffee, stood and walked to the door without a backward glance.
There was no way in hell I was going to allow him to see the tears streaming down my face.
Chapter Nineteen
When I awoke at seven-thirty the next morning, Maureen snored softly in her bed. Quietly, I dressed in the yellow sundress I’d worn the night before, slipped on my comfortable sandals and fixed my hair in a French braid. I thought about makeup, but the day’s weather report had forecasted high humidity. The last thing I needed was to end up with raccoon eyes if I happened to come face to face with Anthony.
Finished, I scribbled a note to Maureen and hurried downstairs. The proprietors had laid a breakfast out on the patio tables. I enjoyed a glazed yeast roll with a cup of strong coffee, hoping Solomon didn’t appear before I finished my breakfast.
An ocean breeze invaded the back lawn, and I breathed in the aroma of salt and fish mixed with the sweet perfume of the garden’s flowers. My roll finished, I decided to chance another cup of coffee. After a bit of shopping and playing tourist, I would meet Mrs. Katherine Gottrick at the Castillo De San Marcos. Once I got a good look at Anthony and give Katherine my warning about possible danger, I’d return to the bed-and-breakfast, enjoy an evening meal with my traveling companions, and try not to think about the past anymore. The next morning, we’d be on the road again heading for Key West and ninety-five thousand dollars.
The clear cerulean sky soon faded to a silver haze as the morning progressed into an oven-like day. The hours passed with a walk through the Ripley’s Believe-It-or-Not Museum, followed by a tour through the chocolate factory, and finally I enjoyed a cup of cold lemonade as I sat under The Old Senator, a live oak approximately six hundred years old in front of the Howard Johnson Hotel. I walked down the only original street remaining of the settlement, its cobbled surface reminiscent of the late
1600s. Tiny shops full of handmade jewelry, trinkets, scarves, and lovely clothing lined the narrow thoroughfare. I spent two hours examining the goods available, making jewelry purchases for myself and Maureen, and something special for Solomon as an apology for my behavior the night before.
I looked at my new silver wristwatch. Its abalone-shell face showed it was nearly two o’clock. My heart felt as though it somersaulted in my chest. Gathering my packages from where I rested on a bench, I hurried to the Excursion, stowing everything in the back, and drove to the fort across the river.
It was hard for me to comprehend that twenty years had passed since I first gazed upon Anthony. Time seemed to have no meaning where he was concerned. It just didn’t seem possible that I had reached the point of truth, a truth that would haunt me for years to come if I didn’t make this effort to protect him in my feeble manner.
Parking the SUV, I made my way along the sandy path to the enormous fort. With perspiration tickling my skin, I shouldered my purse and scanned the people entering and exiting the Castillos gate. My gaze settled upon a tall, angular woman with a sun hat hiding most of her thick, strawberry blonde hair.
Anthony’s adoptive mother.
Next to Mrs. Gottrick stood a gangly young man. As I approached, I couldn’t tear my gaze away from him. He studied Mrs. Gottrick with impatience, his dark hair gleaming in the hazy sunshine. His lean build hinted at the man he would become later down the road.
“Hurry up, Mom,” he grumbled. “It’s cooler inside the Castillos.” He pronounced Castillos with a perfect Spanish accent.
“I found it,” Katherine said, pulling a wallet from her purse. She handed a bill to the woman taking entrance fees, and as she waited for her change, she sensed my gaze and recognized me instantly. A sympathetic expression crossed her face, and, nodding to me, she accepted her change and took Anthony’s proffered arm as he guided her inside the fort.
After I paid my fee, I followed them closely. A tour guide took us and other tourists through dark, dry storage rooms constructed of stone to soldiers’ barracks, officers’ quarters, and then out to the grassy courtyard littered with crushed shells. Along the top of the fort’s wall canons faced the ocean where they once fired at potential enemies who encroached upon the settlement’s shores. At one point, I could’ve sworn I’d spotted the three witches from the B and B with another tour group, probably whiling away the time between mystical lectures.
I couldn’t recall much about the guide’s historical monologue. My attention remained on Anthony. He caught me staring and looked long and seriously at me, his wide-eyed gaze piercing something in my heart I hadn’t realized existed until that moment. The pain it inflicted nearly knocked me off my feet, but then Anthony favored me with a beautiful smile, and its balm healed the searing agony in my soul.
Our little group of sightseers filed into the souvenir shop. Anthony headed straight to a shelf full of history books, novelty items and Castillos replicas. I studied him as I pretended to be interested in a bag of cannonball chocolates displayed in a glass showcase.
“Are you satisfied?”
Turning, I looked at Katherine Gottrick, who stood waiting for the cashier to ring up a scenic puzzle of the fort and a pack of gum.
“Yes,” I said with a quaver in my voice. “He has grown into a handsome young man. He looks healthy and happy.”
“He is,” she replied. “And he is very smart.”
“Oh?”
“Straight A’s throughout all of school. He’s been accepted at the University of Tampa this fall. He’s also a mathematics whiz and loves to read.”
“That’s great,” I heard myself say, but I felt like I floated a million miles away. The tiny granules of information I’d gleaned about Anthony seemed to not only make me glad the boy was happy, but it made me feel cheated and I was the one who had cheated myself. “Does he know he’s adopted?”
“No, we’ve never told him.”
“Has he...has he ever...?” I swallowed hard. I couldn’t even bring myself to say it.
A peculiar expression settled in Katherine’s eyes. “Has he ever done anything strange?”
I nodded.
“No, he’s not like you, Ruby.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good.”
I suddenly felt ridiculous for being there. What was the point of all of this when I was actually no more than just another tourist?
“If you like,” Mrs. Gottrick said hesitantly as she picked up her plastic bag of purchases, “I’ll send you a picture each Christmas from now until—and if—you should decide you want to change things.”
“That’s very kind of you.” The words nearly choked me.
“Do you still live at the same address?” She assessed me from head to toe, her dark brown eyes slicing through my tough façade.
“No, I don’t.” I quickly pulled a pen and a scrap of paper out of my purse and jotted down my address. “I moved out of my father’s house several years ago. I live a few blocks over from him now.” My hand shook as I handed her the piece of paper.
Katherine noticed the trembling and smiled sympathetically. “It must have taken a lot for you to summon the courage to see him, Ruby,” she said. “Don’t worry. You did the right thing, and I’m sure when it’s time, Anthony will understand.”
“I hope you’re right.” My throat constricted with emotion.
“I am.” She put my address in her purse. As she stepped around me, she squeezed my shoulder. “I must be going.”
“Wait.” Fear attacked my heart, and I gulped hard.
She met my gaze, quirking an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“I also came to warn Anthony.”
Although Katherine’s expression remained stoic, terror flashed through her eyes. “Oh?”
“I don’t know why, but I’m being followed by a biker gang.” I lowered my voice and leaned closer to her. “They’re not...uh...normal people.”
She flattened her lips into a thin, gray line.
“I felt compelled to warn my son.” Roaring filled my ears. I sounded like a complete idiot, but blundered onward. “I don’t know that they’ll go after him, but I still have this sensation that he’s in danger.”
Without any reaction to me, she turned and walked away. “Anthony, it’s time to go.”
“In a minute, Mom. I want to buy a couple of these books.” He didn’t look up from the reading the back of one of the paperbacks.
Once again, I felt torn, humiliated and alone. In a blur of tears, I returned to the Excursion. I suddenly felt very old, very stupid, and if I hadn’t known better, I could’ve sworn someone had ripped out my heart.
****
It’s funny how a person can go through life thinking things are a certain way then one day something happens, something small and insignificant to the casual observer, but upon closer inspection and thorough contemplation, the entire universe teeters in the balance of that one little thing.
I sat on a piece of driftwood on St. Augustine Beach and watched the sun lower toward the horizon as waves caressed the hard, gray-brown sand. Seeing Anthony had turned my world, as I knew it, upside down. It had caused a multitude of revelations to whirl through my brain, and in turn, it had also prompted a sense of hopelessness within me.
Regardless, I’d paid the price for my naivety and stupidity, paid it over and over every day I thought about Anthony. Had I done the right thing by giving him up for adoption? Hell, I was fifteen when I’d given birth to him. What does a fifteen-year-old girl know?
Seeing my son had been both wonderful and disturbing, but as a result my heart was even more unsettled.
I had nothing to offer Anthony, and with my current circumstances, the bikers chasing me, the smoke creatures, the voices in my head coaxing me south, and the fact I possessed supernatural powers, he was better off without me anyway.
Besides, I’d never forgive myself if something happened to him. If one of those flame-eyed bikers hurt Anthony because of me... I shiver
ed, picked up my purse and prepared to walk back to the Excursion. Although I didn’t want to think about it anymore, I knew I’d done the right thing by warning Katherine that Anthony might be in danger. She’d thought me insane, which was a normal reaction, but she knew enough about me as a teen to heed my words.
I hurried on to the SUV. I’d been gone all day. Maureen and Solomon were probably wondering if I had abandoned them.
The Ford sat on a side street. I’d parked there and walked down to the beach through the small campgrounds separating the two. As I wandered along the sandy path and into the trees of a large, unoccupied section of the grounds, the sound of a Harley fractured the evening. The thrum-thrum-thrum of the bike froze me in mid-step. Terror claimed me, and my breath stuck in my throat.
Someone gunned the engine, bawdy laughter melded with its roar and what sounded like the squall of a cat—a very big cat—followed.
It can’t be them again, can it?
There was no use denying it. I knew the answer. I stepped off the trail and quietly picked my way through the brush and trees until I reached a pine where I could hide.
Flames leapt and crackled in a fire ring surrounded by several tents. Eight men and five women, who were all extremely large, tall people, stood around talking or sat on the ground drinking hard liquor. The mouthy biker chick with the bright red hair and thick makeup reclined against her tattooed man. Her loud mouth would be difficult to miss even at a cockfight.
However, in the middle of a big area without any pitched tents, sat thirteen motorcycles—but only at first glance.
Not only was the big man’s steel horse parked there, but the other motorcycles with it were part demonic animal too. The head of a black panther with fiery red eyes sprouted from one, and a set of silver reins ran from the corners of its mouth to lie across the seat. The forms of bear, stags, wolves, and even an eagle jutted from the fronts of the other “bikes.” Each head sported glowing serpentine eyes of random colors and mouths or beaks full of sharp teeth. The same style of silver reins looped around muzzles or hung from their steely bits to lay draped across their seats. The panther shrieked again, and I jumped, pressing closer to the tree, its rough bark scraping my skin.
The Sorcerer King and the Fire Queen Page 18
