Beyond Magic (Magical Love Book 1)

by Lizzie T. Leaf

  DooNell nodded but continued to sit. What the hell did Emma have to do to get rid of the crazy old bat? And why didn’t she just wake up? That would take care of the old woman.

  “Magic has given you the chance at the love you’ve always sought, but to create that love goes beyond magic.” The old woman stood and leaned heavily on the cromach she carried for support.

  Emma admired the crooked handle of the walking stick, but why didn’t the old crone need one when she’d met her before?

  Right, this is a dream.

  “You messed up more than once.” Her deep-set black eyes bored into Emma. “Don’t let what happened in the past stop your chance at happiness. You have to stop running from the truth.”

  She was gone. Thank heavens. Emma pulled the covers over her head, ready for a more peaceful sleep.

  “Emma.”

  “Crap, not again. No more dreams.”

  “Em.” The door opened and Cori’s head popped in. “Telephone. It’s she who I will not name.”

  “Great. Just fucking great.” She didn’t need a conversation with her sister, especially when she had a bitch of a hangover.

  Opening her eyes resulted in a shot of pain through her skull. Nails pounded into her head couldn’t hurt worse than letting in the light. She settled for fumbling for the phone. “Faith? What now?”

  “You don’t have to sound so happy to hear from me, sister dear. I just wanted to let you know that we have a buyer for Mother’s house. They want to move in Labor Day weekend, so your plan to come out then isn’t going to work. Goodwill is picking up anything I don’t want this coming Tuesday. If you want any of the crap Grandma left in the attic, you’d better get your butt out here before then.”

  “Okay.”

  “What?”

  The shock in Faith’s voice gave Emma a little thrill of delight.

  “I said okay. As soon as we hang up, I’ll see what I can get for a flight. I’ll let you know when you can pick me up.”

  “Oh. Uh…”

  The bitch always managed to hem and haw before she got to the point, especially when it wasn’t good news.

  “We’re not going to be able to put you up here at our house. My in-laws are here. You’ll have to stay in a hotel.”

  At least that was something to be thankful about. Emma hated the thought of staying with her sister and the creepy jerk Faith had married. “Fine. I’ll let you know when I get in, and we’ll set up a time to meet at the house since you have the keys.”

  Emma hung up the phone before Faith could comment. Maybe the timing of the sale was good. This would give her distance from Denver, and Ian if he was still in town. Dealing with the Charleston bitch would help take the focus off her broken heart.

  And with any luck, there wouldn’t be any more dreams that contained Scottish crones. She was swearing off vodka to guarantee that.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  “Emma, dear!”

  “Mary.” Swooped into the warm embrace of the shorter woman, Emma was glad she’d called ahead to her Scotland tour group. When she told Mary she’d be in Charleston to sort out some old family business, not having dinner with them wasn’t an option she’d been given.

  “It takes only a little over five hours to drive up there from Atlanta, and with Mildred behind the wheel, even less dear.”

  If they hadn’t made the trip, she’d be sitting in a cramped hotel room watching mindless television, or worse yet, wasting more tears on Ian Nordic or whatever the hell name he used.

  “You look tired, dear. Have you been working too hard?” Millie peered at her over the top of her steel–rimmed glasses, her watery blue eyes almost the same shade as her hair.

  “Never too much work, Millie.” Emma shrugged. “Just a little behind on my sleep.”

  “Harrumph.” Barb gave Emma a once over. “Bet it’s a man. They cause lack of sleep and bags under the eyes.”

  “Barb.” Mary shot a warning look at the sharp-tongued woman. “You promised to be positive if we let you come.”

  Emma bit back a grin. Barb and positive used in the same sentence didn’t sound right. “It’s okay, Mary. Barb’s entitled to her opinions. My top problem right now is the overdue settlement of family matters in this fair city.”

  “Those are always so tough.” Sue Ann fanned her face. “I remember when my husband died and I—”

  “Sue Ann, we don’t need to rehash your in-law problems again.” Mildred moved away from the Southern belle and turned to Emma. “Have you met any good looking men?”

  Leave it to the dirty old woman to change the subject to something she found interesting. “Not a one, Mildred. How about you?”

  “No, dear. Can’t say that I have. But” she cast her eyes toward Tillie and grinned—“Tillie’s got herself a beau.”

  “Really! Do tell, Tillie. When did all this happen?”

  “She’s become one of them cougars that you hear about.” Mildred grinned at her friend. “Went and snared a younger man.”

  The snort from Tillie generated a round of laughter. “I wouldn’t exactly call him young. He’s seventy-two.”

  “Well, that’s younger than you by a lot of years.” Barb smirked.

  “Well, Barb, seems you’re a bit jealous since you don’t have a man in your life.” Mildred crossed her arms and returned the other woman’s glare.

  Nosey as she was over the details, Emma sensed the need to change the subject before an argument broke out. A group of senior women rolling around on the floor in a fis-ti-cuffs over a man would be a guaranteed headline.

  “Has anyone heard from Deena recently?” Emma asked.

  Mary’s smile carried into her voice. “I do believe she’s happy for the first time in years. Her letters almost glow.”

  Of course, Barb had to get in a zinger. “Still don’t see what she sees in a man half her size.”

  Mildred fluffed her red spikes and leered. “Maybe he has other things that make up for the short height.”

  Emma’s giggle turned into a yawn she couldn’t stifle. Mary gave her a sympathetic smile.

  “We probably need to get moving so we make it an early night girls. Our Emma needs to rest up for tomorrow. I don’t envy what’s ahead of you, dear.”

  After a not quiet dinner at one of Charleston’s finest dining establishments, the group dropped Emma at her hotel. Lots of hugs and cautions to be safe and keep in touch delighted Emma. When it came Tillie’s turn for a hug, Emma leaned in and whispered, “Make sure I get an invitation to the wedding.”

  The tight blue curls bobbed, and Tillie blushed as she pushed away with an, “Oh, you.”

  All in all, it had been a fun evening. Now it was back to the real world in which she prayed for sleep not invaded by dreams of Ian. She’d need all the energy and patience she could muster to survive a day with Faith. What had she done in a prior life for God to punish her with such a sister?

  “It’s about time you showed up. If I’d known you were going to sleep in, I would have had another cup of coffee.”

  The constant sour pinched expression Faith had worn the last time they met greeted Emma. Faith’s constant expression had resulted in lines around her mouth.

  Serve her right if her face froze like that.

  Emma being five minutes late because of a traffic jam didn’t give Faith a reason to act like the world had come to an end. But, that was her dear sister—always concerned about Faith.

  “Sorry.” Emma bit back all the words she wanted to let fly at the unhappy woman. A verbal row this early in the day wouldn’t accomplish what she’d come here to do. Once they settled this final piece of their mother’s estate, she didn’t foresee much in the way of future contact with her closest relative. “Let’s get started so you can get back to your company.”

  “Fine. We’ll start in the parlor, and you can decide if you want anything there.” Faith stalked off.

  Like the entry that once contained an ornate gold mirror above a long table, the
parlor no longer housed the nicer pieces of furniture. Faith had taken what she wanted and Emma got to select from the leftovers. Typical.

  They made their way through each of the rooms where Emma declined the offer of any of the items. The only thing that really interested her was in the attic. If her grandmother’s old trunk was still there and in good enough condition to travel, she’d have it shipped to Denver.

  Standing before the attic door, Faith fished the heavy key from her pocket and fitted it into the stiff lock. “Should have brought the WD-40,” she mumbled as she struggled against the resistance.

  “Have you been up here since Mama died?”

  Faith shot a glare over her shoulder. “Why would I? The only thing up here is the junk Mama didn’t want. If she didn’t think it good enough to use, why would I?”

  All righty, then. Sorry I asked.

  Emma’s jaw ached from stifling the things she wanted to say, but she knew they’d result in a full battle.

  Just get this done and get back home where you belong.

  The click of the lock was music to her ears. Once they finished up here, she would be free of family ties. The tense inspection of the house only confirmed it. Better no sister than a bitch from hell. She could scratch Faith off her Christmas card list.

  The hinges squealed as the door opened. A layer of dust covered everything. Their footprints led in different directions, Faith’s toward the rows of sheet-covered furniture and Emma’s toward the boxes and old trunks.

  Lots of coughing and gasping from Faith’s corner finally produced a, “Well, I never!”

  Emma looked up.

  “Can you believe Mama left this piece up here?”

  The dusty sheets had protected an ornate Chippendale desk. The piece used to be in the room where Grandma always kept the door closed. “I remember this,” Emma said. “Grandma said it belonged to someone special and had been in the family several generations.”

  “I really don’t understand why Mama put this piece up here. She always said there was nothing but junk stored in the attic.”

  Emma watched the dollar signs in Faith’s eyes as she studied the desk. When she glanced over at Emma, she seemed to change her tune. “Of course, it probably is junk. Some knock-off Grandma picked up and made up stories about. You know how she liked to fabricate things.”

  Yeah, right. Our grandmother wasn’t a liar. And I bet you’ll be on the phone to an antique dealer as soon as you hit your car.

  Emma wasn’t going to argue with the money-hungry woman. If memory served her, Grandma knew it was a Chippendale and she’d given it to someone who wasn’t in a position to take it at that moment.

  Since she didn’t know the person’s name, Emma decided to keep her mouth shut. Let Faith think she was dumb enough to buy her knock-off theory. She didn’t want any part of the desk or the money that came from its sale.

  “We’d better get back to sorting through this junk.” Faith’s tone had lost its bored resentment.

  “Definitely. I have a flight to catch tonight, and if I do want to ship anything home, I’ll need to allow extra time.” Emma returned to her area of boxes and old trunks.

  Two hours later, she stood and groaned, her back protesting at all the leaning. “Faith, I’ve put some things you may want of Mama’s in these two boxes.” She tapped the closest one with the toe of her sneaker.

  “Okay.” Faith’s distracted reply drifted over from the window where she held up a vase, trying to read the mark on the bottom.

  “Are you getting close to done?” Emma wanted this over with. She was dirty, tired, and hungry, not to mention disappointed. So far, she’d not turned up the one item she wanted. Grandma’s trunk wasn’t in the stack of crap she’d dug through, and she had pretty much gone through everything.

  “Yes. I just want to get a closer look at one or two items in the far corner. Had to move a lot of stuff since there were pieces stacked on top of others.”

  Great. Emma bit back a groan of frustration. Faith was on a money quest, and they would be here until it got so dark the dim light from the single bulb hanging from a rafter made it impossible to see much detail. Would it be rude if she said she’d had enough and headed back to the hotel and a hot shower? Thank goodness she hadn’t checked out before she came over here.

  Screw it. Faith wouldn’t have any issue with dumping my ass if the tables were reversed.

  Emma opened her mouth to voice her decision when she noticed a dusty box in the far corner under the eaves. Might as well see what’s in there. Hunched over, she struggled to work the box out far enough that she wouldn’t hit her head on the beams. She dusted it off. It was a trunk.

  Eureka! This is what I came all this way for.

  Emma forced the stiff lid open to explore the items her grandmother considered treasures. The scent of her grandmother’s favorite lotion wafted up, still strong after being locked away over twenty years, and tickled her nose. Childhood memories flooded her heart. In Emma’s earliest memory, Grandma Edith started her morning ritual by slathering the rich moisturizer over her face, neck, and arms. The bottles were tucked in an easy-to-access location in each room so Grandma could squeeze a quick dab on her hands when she passed.

  The scent carried over to everything the woman touched. The yellowed lace wedding gown, a crocheted tablecloth with matching napkins, and several pieces of baby clothing lay on top. She folded them, placed them in the trunk lid, and tackled the things underneath.

  Pictures of people she didn’t know filled several old shoeboxes. One photo of a young woman smiling into the camera looked vaguely familiar. Buried under the shoeboxes was a hat box that had seen better days. Emma debated opening it.

  Probably more pictures.

  Did she really want to look at another group of individuals who meant nothing to her?

  What the hell. Something to do while Faith continues her quest for the antique jackpot.

  Instead of the expected photos, the hat box contained numerous legal papers. Emma pulled one out and scanned it. It was a death certificate for Emily Phillips. The name sounded strangely familiar.

  Several more documents revealed service of various ancestors in the Civil War and a deed to someplace in North Carolina. Most of the papers had yellowed with age.

  She pulled out the last item in the box. Like the death certificate, the folded piece of paper didn’t appear to be as old as most of the documents. Maybe it would tell her more about Emily Phillips and help her remember where she’d heard the name.

  Probably one of the distant relatives Grandma told me stories about when we sat around shelling peas.

  Opening it, she discovered a birth certificate for a baby girl delivered to Emily Phillips on—

  Holy shit, that’s my birth date!

  Emma scanned the certificate. Born in Raleigh, North Carolina. A six pound baby girl, healthy, live birth, father unknown. Child’s name…Emma Lane Phillips.

  Stunned, she held the piece of paper, and memories of all the times she prayed she’d been adopted flashed through her mind. Could this explain why her family treated her like an outsider?

  “Faith, do you know anything about an Emily Phillips?”

  “Sure. That was Mama’s younger sister. The family black sheep.”

  If Emily had a child out of wedlock forty years ago, it would earn her the black sheep status.

  “What about a baby? Did she have a baby about my age?”

  Exactly my age?

  “Oh.” The color drained from Faith’s face. She opened and closed her mouth several times before she found her voice. “I told Mama she should have told you the truth.” A moment before Faith had been pale, but she now flushed as red as a beet. “But no. She said Grandpa Phillips wouldn’t want the real story to get out.”

  “What real story, Faith? What in hell are you ranting about?”

  “The truth of the matter is”—a smirk twisted her thin lips—“you’re not my sister. We’re cousins, thanks to your slut
mother. She took up with some good-for-nothing who got her knocked up and ran out on her.”

  Faith’s voice oozed venom. Had she carried around this hatred since Emma had appeared in her life?

  “How did I end up here?”

  “Grandma threw one of her hissy fits. Emily was her favorite since she had her around the time the change started. Grandpa said Mama and Daddy had to adopt you and nobody better breathe a word about it.” Faith’s glare changed back to a smirk. “I was seven, and they didn’t think I understood what was going on when Mama started wearing a pillow under her skirts. She pretended to be happy when she told everybody she was having a baby. Then Mama went to Raleigh for a week and she came home with you. Grandpa spread the story she’d gone into early labor while visiting with an old friend. Now you know the dirty little family secret.” Mean, hateful laughter flowed out of Faith. “To be honest, I’m happy we’re not sisters.”

  Emma heard the same relief in Faith’s voice that surged through her. The bitter woman’s life centered on unhappiness, but the discovery of the birth certificate gave Faith the chance to tell the truth about one thing. At least that was a positive for both of them. The negative was they were still blood related.

  Now Emma needed to find out what had happened to her mother. Would Faith’s hatred keep her from sharing that information?

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Faith had no clue where Emily Phillips had disappeared to after Grandpa’s friend in the Clerk and Recorder’s office faked a death certificate. That he could accomplish the forgery spoke to his power throughout the Carolinas.

  Pumping Faith for as much information as she could Emma rushed back to the hotel. She had enough time to throw the few items she unpacked back into her carryon bag and check out of the hotel before heading for the airport to make her flight change.

  On her way out of the lobby, she’d bumped against a man and looked up into the shocked eyes of Faith’s husband.

  “Uh, Emma. I didn’t know you were in town.” He placed an arm protectively around the pregnant woman at his side.