by Shona Husk
He’d never thought of it that way. “Yeah… except for the paperwork.”
She laughed, and warmth filled her eyes as if she was seeing him in a new light. “I think Gran would’ve liked you.”
The tension in his shoulders eased and he smiled. He’d passed whatever test she’d set, even as he failed his own. The longer he went without telling her of his gift, the harder it would become to reveal. “Thank you.”
He meant it; it felt like he was one step closer to Lydia seeing him as something other than the vulture valuing her grandmother’s things. Small steps; after all, they weren’t even dating. Maybe family secrets could wait until after the job was finished. Except in his heart he knew that would be too late. She would look back at this time and know he’d kept things from her. Would she even want to know the things he saw? He didn’t half the time.
Lydia put her hand on his arm. “She might have even let you into a party.” She sighed. “It’s nice to talk about her without the slurs that usually follow.”
“It’s nice to hear more about her, the real woman, not the spin.” Her hand was warm against him, the heat seeping through his shirt. The simple touch was a reminder of the human contact he’d shunned. A shimmer of desire slid over his skin. It would be very easy to fall and not think about the landing. Too easy. And he knew how destructive and devastating the impact could be.
For a moment she just looked at him as if not sure what to make of him. Her eyes darkened, inviting trouble. Then she grinned. “You’re something different, Caspian.”
Yes he was, and it was a good thing she didn’t know how different.
* * *
Felan leaned against a tree in the cemetery. Above him the branches swept toward the sky, muttering softly. But he wasn’t here for the whisperings of trees, or to enjoy the mortal world; he was waiting for someone.
The shrubs to his left gave a rustle and then a small fairy in dull clothing appeared, the exiled fairy he’d assigned to watch his son’s house. The fairy bowed low as was proper when greeting the Crown Prince of Annwyn.
Felan inclined his head. “Full stature, I don’t wish to stoop.”
Once he and Chalmer had drank and gambled together. Now it was more than the veil that separated them. Yet he still trusted the fairy. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have sent him to his son’s house to be Caspian’s Brownie.
“Your Highness, thank you for agreeing to meet your most humble servant at such short notice.” The man gave another slight bow that put Felan on edge. Chalmer didn’t bring good news and was afraid… yet not so afraid that he wouldn’t spill.
“I don’t have long.” He had other meetings tonight and he didn’t want to be seen talking to Chalmer; it would start rumors he could ill afford.
While he’d told Chalmer to attend the changeling, he hadn’t said why. He’d done everything he could to ensure Caspian’s safety after allowing him to be born in the mortal world. A lump formed in his throat that was very un-prince like, and more like that of a father who hadn’t seen his son in thirty-five mortal years. He couldn’t.
His fingers curled as if remembering the feel of the tiny babe in his arms. Just the once he’d held his son and kissed his downy hair. That was all he’d allowed himself—any more and his son would be in danger. He knew Caspian would grow up in a loving family; he’d seen their joy and had known he’d made the right decision. From what he’d heard, Caspian was everything a father could want in a son—except the mortal part.
The Brownie inclined his head. “The changeling was recently visited by a banished lord, my Prince, Shea ap Greely. I thought you’d want to know, given recent events.”
“Why does this concern me?” For how much longer would the secret of Caspian’s linage be safe?
“Lord Greely is looking for something called the Window. He was… ah,” Chalmer glanced at Felan before finding the right word, “quite insistent.”
Felan drew in a breath. Had his son betrayed his family? “And did the changeling make a deal?”
“No, Prince. The lord was not happy. He broke the ritual spread, forcing my family to leave, as is proper.”
“Hmm. Thank you for your information; it was most useful.” And most troubling. He’d heard the murmurs between the measures of music and knew that Shea and the Queen were planning something. He’d hoped to have the Window by now, but it appeared to have vanished. If Shea wanted it, it meant he planned to sneak back into Annwyn and cause more trouble. Felan needed the Window, not only to protect his father from the bitterness of the Queen, but also to protect himself.
The Brownie bowed again and hesitated as if not sure if he should leave. “I am ever your loyal servant, Prince.”
“I know, Chalmer.” Felan glanced at the lord who’d been reduced to a Brownie. The gambling debt had been a setup, Felan was sure of it, but that didn’t change the fact that Chalmer needed to pay a penalty. “What is it that you desire?”
“I’m concerned for my family when the power shifts.”
Felan nodded. Many were petitioning the King to lift their exile. They could see the King’s rule was ending and no one wanted to be on the wrong side of the veil when the power of Annwyn shifted from father to son. Those caught in the mortal world would die. “Your daughter is fairy?”
“Yes, Prince. Taryn merch Arlea.” Chalmer used his daughter’s full name to confirm her linage, and make clear he’d broken none of his exile conditions. Taryn was his wife’s child.
“Send her to Court before the vanishing of the moon. For the moment it is all I can do.” At least she would be safe.
Chalmer sighed and looked at the ground as if he had expected more.
“I’m sorry, but the King is issuing no pardons.” He knew his father hadn’t forgiven Arlea for choosing love over duty to her King.
“I understand.” Chalmer bowed, but Felan still saw the disappointment.
If he’d had the power he would have undone the exile, but he didn’t. The first thing he had to do was stop Shea before he could even start making plans for his own takeover. “I will deal with Shea, you stay with the changeling.”
Chalmer hesitated. “And the spread?”
Once broken that was usually the end of the relationship. “The changeling will receive a suitable setting. Report back if Shea returns.”
Chalmer nodded. “An honor serving you, my Prince.” He bowed again then disappeared into the now dark garden.
Felan pressed his lips together. Things were more dire than he’d thought. That Shea even knew about the Window was bad. Did this mean that the Queen had the Counter-Window? It didn’t matter who had it. As long as the other piece of the portal was in Annwyn, Shea could get through. He needed to find the Counter-Window, fast.
* * *
With Caspian there, it was easier to start sorting through Gran’s things. Lydia had made several attempts over the past few weeks, but each time she had been unable to do much more than cry and then go home. Today felt different. Maybe it was because she knew she wouldn’t cry in front of him, or maybe it was because she was able to talk about Gran. It was just nice to be in the house and feel like she could breathe again without being crushed by loss.
She wanted to know more about him but wasn’t sure how to start without seeming obvious. It was easy to talk about Gran and the house, but harder to ask questions that would reveal a little more about him, like where he grew up, did he always want to work around antiques, and what films did he like? Initial attraction didn’t always last once the real person was discovered.
Lydia looked at the pictures hanging on the wall. A mismatched collection of frames and images that had been tacked up to form a collage of Gran’s life. Some were black and white, others more recent. And while some were family pictures, including one that she assumed was her mother as a toddler, many were of people she didn’t know. Artists maybe? Friends? Should she pack them away? If she was going to sell the house, it would be better to have all personal items removed—she did
n’t want strangers stopping and gawking.
“Do you need these?” She turned to Caspian.
Caspian glanced up at her from his laptop. “I’ll have a quick look at the frames, but probably not.”
He walked over, graceful as if he were at ease in a strange house. Her heart lifted as he drew close and she glanced away. There was something eye-catching about him, yet he didn’t act like a man who knew he was good-looking. He paused to examine each picture on the wall. Then he actually stopped; he was staring at one in particular.
“Found something?”
He tore his gaze away and looked at her. “Do you know who this is?”
She looked at the picture of a young man with a guitar. He was smiling, his pale eyes and sharp cheekbones making him look more like a model. He was almost too pretty in his flares and waistcoat. The clothing gave her an indication of the era, but other than that she had no idea. “Probably just one of the musicians who came here.”
Caspian nodded. He touched the edge of the fame, then shrugged and moved onto the next photo.
“There’s nothing antique or individually valuable here. You can pack them. I’ll just make a note of them in the record.” He took a few photos and she watched his lips move as he did a quick count. Again his gaze seemed to stick on the pretty man.
What was so special about that one?
She glanced at Caspian again. She didn’t really have a clue what was going on behind those pale green eyes. She was sure he’d broken hearts with just a look. He seemed so unobtainable. Or maybe it was because he wasn’t fawning over her like other men. A small part of her wished he’d show a little more interest in her, that he’d hold her gaze when she caught him looking so she’d have an excuse to start a more personal conversation with him. Gran would be having a fine old laugh; she was all for putting the cards on the table and seeing what was there.
He typed something on his laptop. “This was more of a living room?”
“Yeah, Gran used it for watching TV, said it was more comfortable than the parlor.” The more time Lydia spent in the house the more she began to realize just how badly Gran had let the house go. Most of the rooms needed repainting. The garden out back was overrun, and the outside of the house was in serious need of attention, and she suspected the roof had a leak since the half-story attic smelled of mold. She hadn’t been game to go in and examine the damage yet as there’d been something scuttling in the dark and she suspected it was something more substantial than the ghost.
Maybe a quick sale was all she could hope for, and then Callaway House would be gone forever. While she could feel the weight of her name lifting, she couldn’t let go of the rope. If the house became a bed and breakfast, all she’d have left of Gran would be a few pieces of furniture. It wasn’t enough. She wanted the house and all the memories it held. Callaways had lived here for over one hundred and fifty years. Gran had done everything to keep it in the family, and Lydia didn’t want to be the one to fail.
“Aside from the two paintings and the crystal vase there’s not much in here.” Caspian’s voice broke into her thoughts. She didn’t have to decide yet.
“The vase was a gift, she never told me who from.” But her eyes had always lit up when she spoke about it.
Caspian glanced at it again and smiled as if he knew something she didn’t. “Shall we move on? I’m sure you have better ways to spend your evenings.”
Lydia nodded, then shook her head. This was much better than working late at the office. “I’m still sorting through the personal items in her bedroom. I never thought it would be so hard to pack everything. How do you deal with it?”
“I don’t. I assess and move on. I don’t like doing deceased estates because the emotions are so raw. Not everyone appreciates what I have to do.” He shrugged but looked uncomfortable discussing it.
“I appreciate the way you’re doing it. I’d expected someone to come in and be all obsessed with its unusual history.” Maybe that would have been easier; then she would have been able to brush him off instead of wanting to know more about him.
“The sex, drugs, and rock and roll?”
It didn’t sound scandalous when Caspian said it, yet she still felt like she had to defend the house as best she could. “There was no rock and roll.”
Caspian raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t some rock star have their wedding here and then get divorced three months later in the eighties?”
“Not everything you read on the Internet is true… it was almost four months later.” And that had been the end of the wedding location according to Gran.
“Just sex and drugs then.” He was smiling.
She couldn’t stop her lips from curving in response. Was he flirting with her? She took a risk to see how far he’d go. “Mostly sex.”
He nodded, but he was watching her as if he was trying to work out what to say next. Had she just killed the conversation? A flutter of nerves caught in her chest as she waited for him to respond.
“I read the dinner parties were something special.”
Lydia let out the breath she’d been holding. “Well, I guess when you get a whole bunch of powerful men and their mistresses in one room things are going to happen. That’s old though. Later it was more hippie. No mistresses, just people boarding here and partying.”
“Is the ghost a myth too?”
“That depends on who you talk to. Gran believed something was here, but I’ve never seen anything, just lots of odd bumps.” There was definitely something here; however, she wasn’t about to confess her belief in the ghost to Caspian. Not yet. Besides, it would be more fun if he realized for himself that they weren’t alone in the house. And if he didn’t? Well, he wouldn’t be the first person to logic away the ghost. But that crawling sensation that someone was watching when she was alone, or the creak on the floorboard that sounded like steps in the middle of the night—she couldn’t explain them away.
“I’ll keep an eye out for it,” he said with a smile.
She looked at Caspian again. There was an air about him as if he was from another time and place, like he didn’t quite fit. Like her. But instead of pressing forward she retreated. “Let’s do the parlor. All the best parties started there, or so I was told.”
She turned away but was sure she could feel his gaze lingering on her back as he followed her into the parlor.
There was dust on the shelves and on the chandelier. The two loveseats looked faded and threadbare. As a child it had seemed magical, now it just looked old.
Caspian scanned the shelves, walking the length of the room. “Do you have a list of the books? Are any first editions?”
“I don’t know… is it important?” There were maybe a hundred old books and plenty of other little ornaments; china dancing ladies, ivory animals, and trinkets from overseas. On the table was an empty brandy decanter and glasses.
He nodded.
“I think some of these belonged to Gran’s father-in-law.” She’d kept them because it made the place look better, like they could all read and were educated. “I’ll start listing the books.”
He glanced at the bookcase behind the desk. “Maybe it could be sold as a bulk lot?”
“Do you think I should sell?” She meant the house, not just the contents of the parlor.
“Do you want to?” He put the laptop on the desk, his fingers tracing lightly over the surface. She’d noticed that about him—he touched an object if only for a second before photographing and documenting. He was tactile even though his job seemed cold and impersonal.
“I thought I did. I had an offer this morning from someone wanting to turn the house into a bed and breakfast.”
Caspian looked over his shoulder. “Because Charleston doesn’t have enough historic escapes for visitors?”
“I can’t afford the repairs without taking out a mortgage that will be bigger than I can repay.” She blew the dust off a book and opened up the first page. Shouldn’t he be telling her to sell? Wasn’t that his
job, to make people part with precious things in exchange for money? She sniffed and blamed the dust, not the sudden lump in her throat. “Do you want it?”
He looked at her, then the chandelier and the rest of the room. “If I had that kind of capital, I’d buy it and pretend to live like a lord.” He closed his eyes and took a breath as if he could imagine the parties the way she once had. As he opened his eyes, he shook his head. “The divorce cleaned me out.”
One eyebrow rose. Divorced. That was the first personal detail he’d revealed about himself, and it was enough to make her want to know more. She bit her tongue on the more nosy questions like what was his ex-wife like and how long were they married and what had happened. Instead she went for the gentle question that would hopefully lead to more. “Recent?”
“Recent enough. It was amicable, she kept the house, and I kept the shop and started over.”
Meaning he’d walked away, because he’d done the wrong thing? She frowned. How could she ask that without putting her foot in it? But it was important to know.
He continued without looking at her. “At the time it felt like the right thing.” He started tapping on the keyboard. “In hindsight I was overly generous.”
Lydia took the opening. “Guilty conscience?”
“Betrayed heart.” He looked over his shoulder and fixed her with those icy green eyes. “I caught her cheating.”
“Ouch.” But he’d wanted her to know that, and that gave her hope that maybe they were at least looking at the same book, even if they weren’t on the same page.
“Not quite what I said.” The corner of his mouth twitched as he tried to hide the hurt.
“No kids?”
“Fortunately no.” He turned and leaned against the edge of the desk. “You know this would be quicker without the twenty questions.”
“But it wouldn’t be as much fun. Don’t you want to know something about Callaway House? People always want to know what went on.” She walked over and put the book on the desk next to him. If she put out her hand, she could run it down his arm. Her fingers twitched.
