Gypsy Magic

by Rebecca York; Ann Voss Peterson; Patricia Rosemoor

  Sabina stirred in his arms, another moan escaping from her lips. Her eyelids fluttered and opened. Her eyes focused on his, drawing him into their brilliant color, holding on. “Garner?” The word was little more than a breath, but it resonated through him with the force of a shout.

  Thank God. She was all right. She wasn’t dead. Not like Mary Ann. Not like his mother and father. Sabina was alive and in his arms.

  Without thought, he lowered his mouth to hers. Her lips tasted every bit as sweet as he knew they would. Sweet and soft and oh, so responsive.

  She put her arms around his shoulders and deepened the kiss, joining her tongue with his. Caressing and tasting and loving.

  He reveled in the press of her lips, the scent of her skin, the flavor of her mouth. He wanted to taste all of her, experience all of her, draw her into his soul.

  He carried her to the bed and set her down, her head on the silken pillows, without taking his mouth from hers, without breaking the contact. He’d almost lost her. Lost her before he’d really even found her. Before he’d drawn her brilliant color into his soul. Before he could love her.

  Love her.

  His throat tightened. He pulled his lips from hers and willed his arms to release her.

  “You didn’t have to stop.”

  “Yes, I did.” He looked down into her eyes, her beautiful, beguiling eyes, and smoothed her hair back from her face with his fingertips. “I’m sorry. I…” He closed his mouth. What could he say? Sorry, I’ve had enough loss and regret for a lifetime? I can’t risk more by letting myself care about you?

  “I’m sorry, too,” she said, offering him a gentle smile, but the sadness in her voice hit him like a well-aimed kick to the gut.

  SABINA RAISED her fingers to Garner’s face and traced the hard line of his lips. Lips that were so gentle. So tender. Yet so full of tension.

  She’d wanted him to kiss her, wanted it with every fiber of her being. But she hadn’t wanted this. She hadn’t wanted him to be sorry. To torture himself for kissing her. To pull away and leave her empty inside.

  He kissed her fingers, then enfolded her hand in his and lowered it to the bed. “I wish things were different.”

  His wife. His family. The pain of losing them ached in his eyes and in his aura. The fear of caring and losing again. The fear of risk. A fear she knew all too well. She offered him a sad smile. “I know.”

  He brushed her hair from her cheek, his fingers moving over her jaw.

  Even at his gentle touch, her jaw was tender. She sucked in a breath.

  He pulled his hand back. “You’re going to have one nasty bruise. We need to get some ice on that. Do you have any?”

  “I have something better in my tent. A healing balm I make myself. Besides, I heal quickly.”

  He nodded as if he accepted her answer without question.

  A glow of pure warmth and strength infused her. What was it about him that made her feel as if she could do anything each time he looked at her? Each time he accepted her? She felt so strong and safe when he was around. Feelings she had no business experiencing, not when she’d just been attacked right outside her own trailer by a masked man. “Do you think he’ll come back?”

  Garner shook his head. “Not if he’s smart. But we have to call the police and report it. Do you have a phone?”

  Now it was her turn to shake her head. “I’ve never had much need to call anyone, so I’ve resisted joining the cellphone generation. There’s one at the carnival office.”

  “Do you think you can walk there?”

  She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Although her jaw pounded like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, the rest of her body seemed to be functioning just fine. Too fine. Sitting next to Garner, her side touching his, she felt heat curl inside her. She tried not to think of the way he’d cradled her in his arms when he’d carried her into the trailer. She tried not to think of the press of his lips on hers, the taste of his mouth, the dance of his tongue. She tried not to think of any of it, but she failed miserably.

  A knock sounded on the trailer door. “Sabina?” The voice of a boy teetering on the edge of puberty rang above the jangle of the carnival outside.

  Sabina lurched to her feet. Her knees wobbled under her for a moment.

  Garner grabbed her arm and held her steady. “Not so fast. I’ll get it.” He guided her back down to the bed, strode to the trailer door and pulled it open.

  “Is Sabina here?”

  Garner motioned him into the trailer. “Inside.”

  It was Peppi, a boy who ran errands for Milo Vasilli, the carnival’s owner. When he spotted Sabina on the bed, he dropped his gaze to the floor, cheeks reddening.

  “It’s okay, Peppi. What has happened? Is your father back?” She’d been looking for Peppi’s father, Tony. She needed to ask him a few questions about the directions he’d given when Wyatt had inquired about a public phone. Directions that had resulted in an attempt on Wyatt’s life by a knife-wielding assailant.

  Peppi shook his head. “He didn’t come home again last night. Mama’s real worried.”

  Sabina pressed her lips together. Had something happened to Tony? Or might he have been the one who’d run her and Wyatt off the road? The one who’d attacked her tonight? “I’m sorry to hear he’s still not back. If you hear anything, let me know.”

  “I came to tell you there’s a phone call for you at the carnival office. It’s Alessandra.”

  Sabina bolted to her feet, adrenaline shooting through her. Garner reached out and caught her arm. “Wait. You’re in no condition…”

  She shook her head and tried to pull him with her out the trailer door. “Alessandra was planning to come back to the carnival tonight. She’s supposed to be here in an hour. She would only call if it was urgent.”

  “Well, if you think you’re going to go sprinting up to the office, you’re wrong. You’re going to end up facedown on the midway.”

  “Then come with me. You can prop me back on my feet.”

  He shook his head and followed her and Peppi out of the trailer.

  Garner by her side and Peppi loping on ahead, Sabina wove through the rows of trailers and broke through the line of carnival games. Crowds shuffled through the narrow alley between game booths. Beyond the games area, the midway was in full swing. Colored lights swirled. Screams echoed off rides, competing with the sounds of rumbling motors and the jumbled mixture of calliope and zydeco music.

  As Sabina, pulse pounding, raced through the crowds with Garner at her side, she tried to imagine why Alessandra had called. Was Wyatt all right? Had the driver of the vehicle that had hit him gone to the hospital to finish the job? Or had Alessandra seen something in one of her visions? The masked man’s attack on her? Or something that hadn’t happened yet?

  She quickened her pace. The carnival office was located where games, midway and trailer lot intersected. Peppi reached it first and opened the door. Sabina and Garner followed him inside.

  The trailer was about the size of a food vendor’s, the office crammed with a battered desk, mismatched file cabinets and a large safe for the night’s receipts, everything Milo needed to keep the carnival running smoothly. A cellular phone perched on the corner of his cluttered desk. Milo had a policy of never allowing the phone to leave the office, for fear it would be lost.

  Sabina grabbed it and held it to her ear. “Alessandra?”

  “Sabina? Thank God they found you. Are you all right?”

  “Fine. I’m fine.” Her throat tightened at the fear in her sister’s voice. Fear almost palpable even over the phone line. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve been having feelings. Bad feelings. About you. About Valonia. Something horrible is going to happen.”

  “Something? Like what?”

  “I don’t know. But you’re all right?”

  “I had some trouble, but I’m fine.” There was no point telling Alessandra the details of the attack. It was over. Gar
ner had saved her. She was all right. And besides, chances were, Alessandra had already seen the details in a vision. Or at least some of them. “You mentioned Valonia. What did you see?”

  “I saw a letter in Valonia’s hand.”

  “A letter? What kind of letter?”

  “I don’t know. But I feel Valonia is in great danger. You have to find her. And, Sabina?”

  “Yes?”

  “Be careful.”

  “I will. And you’d better stay where you are.”

  “Don’t worry. Wyatt would tie me down before he’d let me walk out the door now.”

  “Good. I’ll call you as soon as I can.” Sabina punched the button to end the connection and dropped the phone on the desk.

  “What is it?” Concern sharpening his eyes, Garner searched her face.

  Sabina grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the door, skirting a file cabinet on her way. “I have to find my aunt.” She stepped into the noisy bustle of the midway.

  “I saw her when I was looking for you.” Garner had to shout to be heard. “She’s in the fortune-telling tent.”

  “Of course. She’s filling in for Alessandra.” Sabina cut across the midway, the fastest route from the office to Alessandra’s tent. Once again she raced through the crowds, this time around the swirling lights of the Tilt-a-Whirl, Garner on her heels.

  The fortune-telling tent was dark inside. Quiet. As if it was deserted.

  Sabina bit her bottom lip. Reaching the tent’s entrance, she threw open the flap and rushed inside. Hands shaking, she groped for matches to light one of the dozens of candles Alessandra used to lend light and atmosphere. Her fingers finally closed over the walnut matchbox. She forced her hands to be steady as she opened the box and struck a match.

  The flame sputtered, then glowed. She touched it to the wicks of several candles lining one table. Flickering light suffused the tent, illuminating stacks of silk pillows and gossamer draperies. One table was tipped over, its velvet cloth and candles scattered on the floor. And amid the jumble lay Valonia, her bony fingers clutching a letter.

  Chapter Five

  “No, no, no…” Anguish and fear tore through Sabina. Her head spun. Her stomach heaved. She fell to her knees and stared at Valonia’s still body. There was a gash across her wrinkled brow. The upset table lay near her head, blood on the metal edge, no doubt the spot where her aunt’s head must have hit.

  Garner stepped past Sabina and knelt close to Valonia. He laid his fingers along her neck, feeling for a pulse. Glancing back to Sabina, he shook his head.

  A wail erupted from Sabina’s lips. She clamped a hand over her mouth and tried to breathe. She didn’t need Garner to say the words. They had already ricocheted through her mind and pierced her heart. Valonia was dead. Sabina couldn’t save her. She was too late.

  “What the hell’s going on? Why were you racing across the midway?”

  Sabina turned in the direction of the familiar voice.

  Tall and strapping, her cousin Andrei stood in the tent’s entrance, his face furrowed with concern, his eyes bright with alarm. He focused on Valonia.

  Sabina swallowed a sob. She was glad Andrei was here. Though Valonia wasn’t related to him by blood, he was part of her carnival family. And except for the time his mother sent him away to school, Andrei had always watched out for his younger cousins. Sabina drew a deep breath and forced her gaze back to Valonia’s body.

  Andrei rushed forward to Sabina’s side. “Can’t you do something, Sabina? Can’t you help her?”

  Sabina shook her head. “She’s already dead.”

  Shock faded from his face and anger took its place. “Who did it?” He zeroed in on Garner.

  Sabina shook her head. “We just found her. It was probably the same man who just attacked me. The same one who attacked Wyatt and torched Alessandra’s trailer.”

  “Sweet God.” Milo Vasilli pushed the tent flaps aside and stepped into the tent. Face pale, he took in Valonia’s body and the wreckage strewn across the floor of the tent. He held the coin he usually flipped in his fingers tightly in his fist. “What has happened here? Burglary?”

  “I doubt it,” Garner’s voice sounded behind Sabina, strong and sure.

  Suddenly she had the urge to lean against him the way she had in her trailer after the attack. Lean against him and soak in the strength he seemed to give her so she could face what she needed to face.

  Milo ventured farther into the tent, but stopped before he reached Valonia. In Gypsy culture the dead were not to be touched. Their belongings were to be burned or sold off, lest their spirits taint those who came in contact with them. Like Sabina and Andrei, Milo wouldn’t go near Valonia’s body. Not if he could help it. “I will call the gadje police. They will take care of her.”

  Sabina gave him a grateful smile through the tears she could feel winding down her cheeks. “Thank you, Milo.”

  He nodded and scurried from the tent.

  Sabina looked back down at her aunt. A wail of grief rose in her throat. She choked it back. She couldn’t give in to the sorrow. Not right now. Later she could cry. Later she could mourn. Now she had to concentrate. She had to think.

  Through her tears, she focused on the blur of yellowed paper, the envelope still clutched in Valonia’s hand. The letter Alessandra had seen in her vision. Doing her best to dash the tears from her eyes with the back of one hand, Sabina leaned closer. An elegant script she didn’t recognize graced the front of the envelope. A name.

  Carlo.

  Her heart went still.

  Garner followed her gaze to the letter. His brows rose in question.

  “Alessandra saw a letter in my aunt’s hand in a vision tonight. It’s addressed to Carlo.”

  “Open it,” Andrei urged.

  Garner removed the letter from Valonia’s hand.

  Sabina bent over him, Andrei behind her.

  Holding it only by the edges, he untucked the envelope’s flap and slid out a piece of yellowed paper. Carefully, he unfolded it and held it so Sabina could read it. Fear pulsed off the handwritten page.

  Dearest Carlo—

  My husband Richard has found out about us. He’s very angry and I fear he’s going to do something terrible. Meet me at our place under the spreading oak. Be careful.

  No matter what happens, I will always love you.

  Theresa.

  “The spreading oak,” Sabina murmured. “That huge live oak on the edge of the swamp. That’s where Theresa Granville’s body was found ten years ago. That’s where she was murdered.” He excitement mounted. Could this letter be the evidence she was looking for? Evidence that pointed to Theresa’s real murderer? Evidence that exonerated her cousin Carlo?

  She looked back down at the fluid script. “‘My husband Richard has found out about us,’” she read aloud, “‘He’s very angry.’ If Richard Granville knew about the affair Theresa was having with Carlo and he knew where she was meeting him, he might have gone there to confront her. Richard Granville might have killed his wife.”

  Garner folded the letter and slipped it back into it’s envelope. “No wonder my father and now Leon want to keep this under wraps. Richard Granville was a big supporter of my father when he was mayor of Les Baux. And now that he’s a state senator, he’s an even stronger political ally for Leon.”

  Behind Garner, Andrei’s face glowed unnaturally pale in the flickering candlelight.

  Sabina looked back to the letter in Garner’s hand, the letter that might help her prove Carlo’s innocence. The letter that Valonia must have been trying to protect when she died. “So what do we do now? We can’t just turn the letter over to the police. What if they cover it up, just like they covered up the bloody fingerprint on Theresa’s brooch?”

  “Take it,” Andrei said, his voice tight. “Take it before the cops get here.”

  “That would be withholding evidence in a murder investigation.” Garner’s voice was deadly serious.

  “Would it be better to le
t the gadje destroy it?” A flush of anger replaced the pallor in Andrei’s cheeks. “Would it be better to let them continue to railroad an innocent Gypsy? Let them kill him for a crime he didn’t commit?”

  Sabina took the letter from Garner’s fingers and wrapped it in one of Alessandra’s red silk scarves before sliding it into the waistband of her skirt. Her eyes met Garner’s. She was about to break the law, the law that he upheld, the law that he practiced every day. Her mouth grew dry as bone.

  For a long moment he said nothing, the conflict within him furrowing his brow. Finally he nodded, the movement of his head so slight she couldn’t be sure if it was really a movement or just a trick of the flickering candlelight. “We’ll make copies and give one to Leon. Maybe this will be enough to convince him he can no longer hide what my father did. Nor can he protect Richard Granville.”

  Andrei watched Garner, scrutinizing his eyes and the hand that touched Sabina’s arm. “Can you get Sabina out of here? Can you make sure she’s safe?”

  Garner nodded. “Yes.”

  “Then go. Both of you. I’ll take care of the gadje police.”

  AFTER MAKING PHOTOCOPIES of the letter, as well as of the photo of the bloody fingerprint, Garner drove Sabina to his father’s home. Now, perched on a packing box in the middle of the kitchen floor, Sabina slipped the six sets of photocopies into six separate envelopes. Her hands were still shaking, making stuffing the envelopes a challenge. And wherever she looked in the nearly empty kitchen, all she could see was Valonia’s lifeless face.

  She still couldn’t believe her aunt was dead. Couldn’t believe someone had taken her life tonight. Sabina would miss her terribly. But the worst thing was the knowledge that Valonia would never see Carlo a free man. She would never know that the letter she had found, the one she must have been trying to protect when she died, had helped free her son.

  At least Sabina hoped the letter would help free Carlo. Judging from the frustrated pitch of Garner’s voice coming from his father’s office, Leon Thibault was being less than cooperative.

  She focused on sealing the last envelope. Garner hadn’t told her whom he planned to give the envelopes to, besides Thibault, but she had no doubt Garner had a plan. And that it would work.