Alessandra struggled to catch her breath, trying to make sense of what she had just heard. “You’re saying you were so angry that you did that to him? You made him blind?”
Her aunt’s voice was steady. “Yes, I did it. I cursed him. And the others.”
WYATT FELT HIS WHOLE BEING contract as he listened to the old woman.
She had cursed him? She had made him blind?
The woman in there—Alessandra’s aunt—had taken away his life as he knew it?
Only a few days ago he wouldn’t have believed it was possible. He’d been sure that one person’s thoughts could have no physical effect on another, that there was no way the old woman could have done what she claimed.
He was a man who had always dealt in facts. In logic. In what he could verify with his own senses.
He’d had no belief in supernatural powers. But that was before his own recent experiences with Alessandra.
Sometimes when she’d touched him, against all reason, he’d seen what she was seeing. There was no logical way to explain what had happened. Yet he’d experienced it for himself.
What had happened between himself and Alessandra had been good.
What Valonia was talking about was evil. He felt a choking sensation in his throat, in his lungs. At the moment he wasn’t capable of rational thought. All he knew was that he couldn’t breathe—and that he had to get away.
He had a good sense of direction. He had been here before. He turned and fled up the narrow lane, then bolted toward the right, up the midway toward the entrance.
In back of him, he thought he heard Alessandra calling. But he didn’t stop. He had to get out of there. Away from the old woman.
He reached the parking lot and ran headlong across the open space—unable to see the car speeding toward him.
Chapter Nine
Wyatt heard the roar of an engine, heard tires spinning on gravel. Perhaps it was an illusion, but it suddenly seemed as if a vehicle was heading straight toward him.
He’d been running as fast as he could. Then he’d checked his forward motion, but it was already too late.
Metal collided with his body. His head cracked against glass.
The impact bought a scream to his lips. Then blessed unconsciousness took away the pain.
HE LAY ON CRISP SHEETS, his eyes closed. His head hurt. His body hurt, too, especially when he tried to take a breath.
“You’re awake,” an angel murmured.
No, not an angel. Alessandra. She’d been here with him. He vaguely remembered her presence hovering over him—loving and protective.
“How long since that car slammed into me?” he whispered, trying to squeeze the slender feminine hand that clasped his. He found he didn’t have much strength.
“A day and a half,” she answered, her fingers pressing his. “You’ve been conscious some of the time. We talked.”
“My memory is kind of vague on that,” he said, his voice rusty with disuse.
“Well, you had a concussion, a punctured lung and a broken leg.”
“Dumb of me to run off like that,” he muttered.
“You had a shock. We both did.”
Speaking was an effort; so was staying awake. His eyelids fluttered, and he briefly saw the room, knowing it was from the contact of her flesh against his. Then he drifted off again.
Hours later, when he awoke once more, the pain was less.
“Hello again,” Alessandra said. Her fingers were still wrapped around his.
“You should go back to my house and get some rest,” he said.
“They brought me a nice comfortable chair. You know, special treatment for someone visiting a decorated ex-cop. I’ve had plenty of rest.”
He opened his eyes, blinked against the light. He and Alessandra were holding hands, so he could see her.
She was sitting in a fake leather chair, wearing a deep blue dress that looked wonderful against her creamy skin.
“It’s nice to wake up to such a beautiful sight,” he said. “I love that dress on you.”
She glanced down at her lap, but the view didn’t change.
“Let me tell them you’re awake again.” She got up and detached her hand. Quickly she crossed the room and exited.
He lay with his eyes closed until he heard footsteps again. Alessandra had brought a nurse, he saw when he opened his eyes, who checked his vital signs and told him he was doing fine.
With a growing sense of astonishment, he watched the woman work, watched her leave, then turned his gaze to Alessandra.
“I saw that nurse,” he said, his voice low and husky. “I can see you now. I thought when I woke up that it was because you were holding my hand. But that’s not it. I’m seeing you—on my own,” he said, still not quite believing it.
She ran to his side. “Oh, Wyatt! Are you sure?”
He laughed, ignoring the pain, his gaze focusing on the front of her dress. “Hmm, you need proof? Well, from this vantage point, it looks like you’re wearing a bra under that beautiful blue dress. Too bad. I’ll just have to take it off you when I’m a little stronger.”
She reached for him. And he had enough strength to bring one arm around her. There was no need to hold her to him. She stayed right where she was, clasping him gently yet surely.
He felt her shoulders shaking, then felt drops of moisture hitting his face.
“Oh, Wyatt,” she gasped. “I don’t know how, but I think the curse is over for you.”
“I think a nice smack upside the head may have had something to do with it,” he whispered, taking care not to laugh this time.
“Maybe it’s love,” she whispered. “And maybe it’s that you made a tremendous sacrifice for me. You could have hidden the evidence that your dad withheld. But you went looking for it—for me.” Her arms tightened around him, but carefully, so that she didn’t hurt him. “Oh, Wyatt. I love you so much. I always did. But I was afraid to admit it, even to myself.”
Hearing those words made his heart soar. “I loved you, too,” he answered, his throat thick. “I love you now. But I thought it was hopeless. So I tried to tell myself it wasn’t true.”
When her fingers tangled with his, he held on to her with all the strength he possessed, thinking that he and Alessandra had already wasted too much time. “So, now that we’ve both admitted we were fools to call it quits last time, does that mean you’ll marry me?” Realizing what he’d said, he held his breath.
“Oh, yes,” she answered immediately.
He sighed out his relief.
For long moments she clung to him. Then she pulled back and wiped the tears from her eyes.
“Now that you’re my fiancée,” he said thickly, “I can rest easy.” He was asleep again as soon as he finished the sentence.
The next time he awoke, he heard a woman’s voice. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Alessandra was talking to the nurse. “I’m back,” he said.
Alessandra hurried to his side, smiling, then stepped aside so the nurse could check his vital signs.
Then he and the woman he loved were alone again.
“I didn’t dream that, did I?” he asked carefully. “You said you’d marry me?”
“I did.”
He smiled. “Then how about a kiss?”
She leaned down and touched her lips to his. Stronger than he’d been the last time, he held her to him, deepening the kiss, his soul warming at the contact.
At last she straightened, smoothed her hair.
“I’ll muss you up a little better when I get out of this hospital bed,” he said.
God, she was pretty when she blushed, he thought. Then he grew serious again. “So, should I buy a trailer and move around with you? I figure I can work as a P.I. And I can do that anywhere.”
“You’d live in a trailer?”
“For you, I’d live in a pup tent.”
She reached for his hand, held tight. “When you took me home, I loved your house. I loved the garden. And the big rooms. Livi
ng in a house like that would be like stepping into a dream world. Living there with you would be…wonderful.”
“Hmm, it will be fun to see you decorate it.”
“You don’t mind my making changes?”
“No. I’d love your making the place your own.”
She looked pleased, then her expression sobered.
“What? Whatever you’re thinking, tell me!”
“Would you mind traveling with the carnival part of the time? At least at first. I’d feel like I was leaving them in the lurch if I disappeared. There’s a girl who can take my place. My cousin, she has the talent to be a good fortune-teller, but I need to train her.”
“I’d like living with you there—if your family can accept Louis Boudreaux’s son.”
“They know what you’ve done for us.”
“They know my father hid evidence that would have cleared Carlo,” he said, knowing he had to get that out in the open, yet feeling his insides clench as he waited to hear her response.
“Wyatt, what you did—showing me that evidence—took courage and integrity. Your father gave you those qualities because of the way he raised you.”
“But his life was a lie!”
“Or he just made one big mistake. Don’t judge him. You don’t know what kind of pressure was put on him.”
“You can say that?”
“Yes. I can. Remember, I was the woman who hated you for the wrong reasons. It was such a relief when I gave up that hate. Like lifting a terrible weight off my shoulders. Nobody knows better than I do that we have to go ahead from here. Loving each other. Supporting each other. Focusing on everything good in our lives.”
He nodded, understanding that it was true, understanding how lucky he was. He had his sight back, and he was going to marry the woman he loved—a woman who could make his life complete.
“Don’t let bitterness eat at you. Promise me.”
He swallowed. “I can’t do it all at once. But with your help, I can start.”
“Do it for yourself—not me. I give you permission to forgive him.”
He nodded, amazed at how wise she was and praying he could accept the challenge she’d thrown to him.
“Let’s start with love,” he said. “How about another kiss?”
“As many as you want!” She leaned over, pressing her lips to his, then deepening the contact, and he knew he was the luckiest man in the world.
SABINA
ANN VOSS PETERSON
To Denise O’Sullivan, Rebecca York and
Patricia Rosemoor for asking me
to be part of Gypsy Magic.
And to Rebecca, Patricia and Norman
for all the fun we had exploring the bayou.
Chapter One
Sabina King stepped back from the opened hospital door before her sister and Wyatt spotted her. She had heard their words of love, spoken only for each other’s ears. She had seen the joy in their faces, happiness after years of pain and suffering and longing. And she wasn’t going to get in their way.
Not this time.
No matter what Alessandra had said about her reasons for sending Wyatt away all those years ago, Sabina knew she’d been at least part of the reason her sister had given up the man she loved. And now that Alessandra and Wyatt had found each other again, Sabina wouldn’t interrupt even a moment of their time together. They deserved time alone. Time to explore their feelings. Time to plan their future together. Time to heal.
Blinking back tears of joy for her sister, Sabina forced herself to turn away and walk down the long, white corridor. The heels of her sandals clacked on the tile floor. The green and indigo gauze of her skirt danced and swirled around her legs as she walked. Nurses, orderlies and visitors alike turned to watch her pass. Their eyes narrowed with suspicion or curiosity or a mixture of both. She could read the emotions in their faces and in the band of glowing light surrounding each person. The aura, which was her gift to see and interpret. She knew what they were thinking. The Gypsy. The fortune-teller. The thief.
Of course, they were wrong about everything but the Gypsy part. She was no fortune-teller. Not really. That gift had eluded her. That gift had been bestowed on Alessandra alone.
And Sabina was no thief. Though some probably thought the simple healing spells and charms she sold at the carnival were a kind of thievery. Spells and charms Valonia had taught her after Sabina had returned to the carnival six years ago in shame. Taught her so she could make a living. And have a purpose.
Sabina drew a deep breath, trying to purge the negativity from her thoughts. She knew what Alessandra would say. She’d say Sabina had a purpose. A purpose more powerful than seeing the future. More powerful than reading auras. More powerful than the simple spells she sold. A gift as powerful as life itself.
She looked down at her hands, swinging by her sides as she walked. Hands that could absorb another’s injury. Hands that could heal. Heat crept up her neck and spiraled through her mind. She raised her eyes and focused straight ahead, striding faster until she was nearly running down the corridor.
What good was her gift if it couldn’t be controlled? If it couldn’t be used? What good was her gift if she couldn’t heal Wyatt’s injuries? If she didn’t dare try?
Her fear wasn’t the only thing holding her back. There were other forces at work in Wyatt’s case. Forces she didn’t understand. Wyatt had told Alessandra he could see again. Valonia’s curse—the curse Alessandra had told her about—was broken. And Sabina couldn’t risk that her attempt to heal him of the injuries sustained in the accident would not only bring back his health, but the curse, as well.
But with Wyatt lying in a hospital bed and Alessandra by his side, who would prove Carlo was innocent? Who would deliver him from that horrible Louisiana state prison in Angola, where he waited on death row? Who would save him from being strapped to a gurney in less than three weeks and having a fatal needle plunged into his arm?
Sabina pushed open the wide glass door and walked out into the damp heat. She might not be able to heal Wyatt, but there was something she could do. She could continue what Alessandra and Wyatt had started.
She could save Carlo.
THE WINDOWS of the once-grand house on the outskirts of Les Baux seemed to stare into the twilight, dark as soulless eyes. Sabina shivered despite the thick blanket of heat and humidity lingering from the day, and forced her feet to move step by step up the winding walk. The stones tipped, uneven under her sandals. Birds flitting around the house and in the garden sang the end of the day, their music almost mournful in the stillness. Wisteria vines covered the house’s stone walls, their pendulous flowers long since wilted and dried by Louisiana’s summer sun. The hard knot of apprehension tightened in her stomach.
She’d spent the entire day at the courthouse, trying to convince someone, anyone to listen to her about the photograph of the bloody fingerprint Alessandra had given her after Wyatt’s accident. The one Wyatt and Alessandra had found in Wyatt’s father’s files. But the only answer Sabina had heard was no. The only advice was to “go through proper channels.” The only response was the old familiar suspicion and mistrust.
She shook her head and kept walking. How could she go through proper channels? Carlo’s public defender was long since dead. And although a law student here and a pro bono attorney there had helped him file appeals throughout the ten years he’d languished on death row, they had ceased returning Valonia’s phone calls long ago. And her calls to other attorneys had yielded the same response. They couldn’t handle another pro bono case. There was nothing they could do. Carlo had exhausted his appeals.
Her cousin had run out of time.
And that was what had brought her to this house. A search through the register-of-deeds office had provided the address of the district attorney who’d prosecuted Carlo ten years ago. She only hoped he would listen. Only hoped he wouldn’t brush her off with talk of “proper channels” and narrowed eyes of suspicion. Because if he didn’t listen, s
he didn’t know where to turn.
She stepped onto the wide porch, the wood thumping under her feet as loudly as her pulse thumped in her ears. Crossing the porch, she strode to the front door and seized the large brass knocker.
The clack of brass against wood echoed through the house. She held her breath and strained to hear movement from inside.
The sound of feet striking wood flooring reached her. The doorknob turned, and the door opened. Face shrouded in shadows, a man looked out at her. At first she could see only his eyes. Dark as sin and rich as chocolate, they penetrated the shadows and seemed to look straight into her soul. Then the twilight’s glow fell on an angular face tapering to a strong jaw.
Sabina’s heart jolted. She’d seen him before—she was sure of it—long ago, when he was just a gangly boy walking the carnival midway in search of fun on a summer evening. Their eyes had met across the crowd. And later, when a gang of town boys had been harassing her, he’d come to her aid, ordering them to leave her alone and backing up the order with an intense stare that sent the boys off to find an easier target.
Although the contact had lasted but a few minutes, the protectiveness in his eyes and the brilliance of his aura told her everything. In a glance she’d known him better than she knew her own heart.
“You’re from the carnival, aren’t you?”
His voice didn’t carry the sneer of most townsfolks’ voices when they identified her as part of the carnival. But after hearing that sneer so many times and seeing the narrowing of their eyes and the way they clutched purses and fingered wallets, she couldn’t help raising her chin just a little in defiance and straightening her spine as if readying herself to fight. “Yes, I am from the carnival.”
He looked at her now with eyes so intense, they seemed to drill into her. “I remember. You sold charms for your aunt. Healing spells.” The corners of his lips crooked up with the hint of a wistful smile. But there wasn’t anything wistful in the aura she read. No longer the brilliant glow, it was weak, uneven, the color subdued. He was wounded somehow. Crippled.
Gypsy Magic Page 8
