by Shona Husk
She hoped he wouldn’t care; after all, it wasn’t as if his family name could be tainted by association. To stop herself thinking of the end before they’d really begun she made herself concentrate on the diary. Gran had been writing about a singer with the voice of an angel and the looks to match—the too pretty man in the photo? He was very popular apparently and also cash poor.
He gave me a gift tonight, said I’d been most kind but that it was time to move on. I didn’t open it until after closing. For a man who never had a dollar on him he gave me a silver compact. Pretty little thing.
Lydia stopped and re-read. She’d seen that silver makeup mirror in Gran’s personal things. It had been wrapped up in a piece of tissue paper and tucked in the drawer with her makeup. It was now at her apartment in a box in the spare room. Had she and the singer been lovers? Is that why Gran had kept it safe for so long? Then she shook her head; Gran hadn’t thrown anything out. No doubt she’d kept it because it was pretty. She should get Caspian to take a look at it; she’d drop into his shop—plus it would be an excuse to see him again, outside of the house.
“You couldn’t sleep?”
She yelped and dropped the diary she’d been reading. Caspian stood in the doorway, half-dressed in jeans.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She picked up the book and tried not to glance over, but her memory filled in the details. Fit without being muscle-bound, just enough hair on his chest to make him a man. A narrow line of hair led from his naval and dipped into his jeans.
“I’m not used to sharing a bed.” That was the truth, but she could get used to seeing Caspian in hers. “Did I wake you?”
He was leaning in the doorway, looking far too attractive for the middle of the night—or was this that morning after talk? “No, I never sleep well in strange beds.”
She raised her eyebrows—how many strange beds did he sleep in?
“When I travel, for work. I don’t…” He looked away, his gaze falling on his left hand resting on the door frame. An unconscious gesture, but she was sure he was thinking of his ex-wife.
This was the awkwardness she hadn’t wanted in the morning. Too late now, they were both up. She patted the cushion next to her. “Want to join me?”
He didn’t answer; he just sat, without touching her. It took a moment for her to realize that she wanted him to put his hand on her leg or at least acknowledge what they’d done. But they weren’t together. It had been an itch that needed scratching. If this didn’t go well, maybe she wouldn’t bother showing him Gran’s mirror. Just cut ties and walk away. One little mirror wouldn’t matter to the estate; besides, Gran had never put it on the insurance, or even spoken about it, so it probably wasn’t worth much money.
She turned to face him and asked the obvious. “Why don’t you sleep well in strange beds?”
She expected a response like too soft or too hard, or fear of bedbugs or something else innocuous. He looked at his laced fingers as if thinking hard. Too hard for the question. A chill brushed over her skin and drew the fine hairs on her arm up in gooseflesh. Around her the house was silent. It was then she realized that was what had woken her. She’d gone to sleep listening to the noise of the storm and the creaking and rattling of the house. Now it was deathly still. As if the ghost was waiting for something.
Caspian drew in a breath. “Do you believe in psychics?”
That wasn’t what she was expecting. “Like fortune tellers?”
“No, like real psychic powers. People who can do things others can’t.” He glanced over. “Like psychometry.”
She wasn’t even sure what the word meant. “What is it?”
Again he paused and swallowed. “If someone is psychometric they get impressions off objects. I don’t sleep well because I know what has gone on in the strange beds.”
Lydia didn’t know whether to laugh or be stunned into silence. Was he saying he could see the past? Impossible. Yet she remembered the way he’d touched the furniture. The way she’d caught him holding on to the bedpost. He hadn’t been thinking of an auction; he’d been looking into the past.
He’d been seeing the past of Callaway House the whole time he was here.
“Are you telling me you can walk up to something and know who has touched it?”
“It’s not like that. I get a feeling, some images—particularly of strong emotions—I can sift through to when it was made and get a feel for the age.”
“That must be useful in your line of work.” What the hell had he seen? Had he just wanted her because of what was going on in his mind? Oh my God, what was she even thinking? She was ready to believe him instantly. Because it fitted. The few comments he’d made about something were like he knew it. The recently used trunk. She hadn’t been able to tell the difference because there wasn’t one to her eye. He’d known that because he must have felt it or seen it or something.
“That’s why I do this job. It means I get to use it instead of hiding from it. I still have to prove authenticity and go by the book, but it is a valuable shortcut that has saved me from buying a good fake.”
She nodded. Then shook her head. “You know how this sounds, right?”
He looked back at his hands. His finger touched where a wedding ring would have once sat. “I never told Natalie. When I said I caught her cheating, I meant I got an impression of her in our bed with another man. She’d brought him to our house. If she hadn’t, I’d have never found out.”
Lydia’s mind scrambled to process what he was saying. “You left your wife because of something you thought you saw when you touched the bed?”
“I know what I saw. I’ve had this, this talent since I was a child. She admitted the affair when I asked her about it, said it had been going on for months and then she apologized because she never meant for it to happen. As upset as I was at her for cheating, I share the blame. I never fully let her in. I could never be totally honest with her, and she had to feel that distance between us.”
Lydia had no idea how she was supposed to react to this revelation. But she did know that it was a big deal to share such a secret. For him to tell her meant he wanted to be with her—and not just for tonight. Her heart seemed to stutter before steadying.
Did she even believe in the abilities he claimed to have? Well, only one way to find out. “What does this tell you?”
She handed him her grandmother’s diary.
He took it without question, as if expecting a test. He held the book as though weighing it and considering its worth, but she knew he wasn’t seeing the leather and pages.
“She enjoyed writing at the end of the day,” he began. “It helped her unwind even if she was tired of smiling and pretending to be happy.” He tilted his head. “She seemed mostly happy. There was a lover, or someone she was fond of but could never talk about. She was sad when he left. But she had to keep up the illusion that everything was all right even if she was worried about money.” Caspian offered her the diary back. “From what I’ve picked up she was an amazing woman. You were lucky to have someone like that in your life.”
“Thank you.” That he could appreciate Gran’s life and look beyond the scandal meant a lot. She took the diary back, but she wasn’t sure she believed him about the psychometry. He could’ve made that stuff up. But he didn’t know what year the diary was from and there was no way he could know about the mysterious singer—unless he was just guessing because of the picture. Maybe she should ask him something about something else. She bit her lip and her gaze landed on the old love seat.
Caspian shook his head. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
“How do you live with it? Do you see the history of everything?”
“I can block out a lot of it, now. It used to cause me a lot of problems.”
“I can imagine.” There’d be a lot of things he wouldn’t want to see. “You probably know Callaway House much better than me.”
“I doubt that. I saw bits of the past, that�
��s all.”
“And they didn’t affect you at all?”
He gave her a rueful smile. “I never said that. Many of the things I see affect me. I’ve seen some awful things. I’ve seen murders I can’t report or that happened a hundred years ago. They are no less real than if they were happening in front of me. Things with strong emotions last longer than the day-to-day grind. I nearly turned down this job because I was worried about seeing too much.” He put his hand over hers. “I’m glad I didn’t.”
She turned her hand over and wrapped her fingers around his, the heat of his skin seeping into her and warming her. She searched his face, but his expression was carefully neutral as if he was expecting the realization to slowly sink in and for her to pull away. She wasn’t quite sure what to say, only that she needed to say something. “I’m glad you didn’t, too.”
Her body tingled at the memory. Did he know what she was thinking? Would she be forever wondering what he was seeing? There’d be no privacy, ever. He’d know if she’d shaved her legs in the shower. However, he’d told her, so she could make that decision. It was up to her what happened next.
“So now that you know I’m weird, I’ll go back upstairs and leave you to get back to reading.” He went to get up but she kept hold of his hand.
He glanced at her, his eyebrows pinched together and his lips parted as if he were going to speak.
She couldn’t let him just walk away. After everything he’d seen he’d been nothing but polite. There was no smug glee or crude comments. Men like Caspian didn’t come along very often. There were worse things than being psychometric, right? And he’d found a use for the talent. She was going to have to look it up and find out more. Or trust him. She looked into his eyes. Once she’d thought he was hiding behind them, now she knew he saw everything, more than anyone should. He was protecting himself… and his heart.
And she wouldn’t be the one to break it. “I don’t think you’re weird and I don’t regret what happened.” She leaned over and kissed him, and what was meant to be a simple kiss deepened quickly as if the lust in her blood wasn’t yet sated.
His fingers brushed her cheek. “Neither do I. Are you coming back to bed?”
Yes, she’d be a fool to hide down here while he was up there. But she wanted a moment to herself to catch her breath and work out what she needed to know about him. Not to ask tonight, but soon. And she’d expect him to have questions too.
“I’ll be up in a minute.” She let his fingers slide free and watched him walk out of the parlor. She knew in that heartbeat she couldn’t let him walk out of her life, no matter what he could see.
Chapter 11
“Psst. Wake up.”
Someone pinched his face. Caspian opened one eye and saw Dylis standing on his pillow. He blinked a couple of times to pull himself out of the strange dreams of other people’s lives and orientate himself in the strange room. He opened his mouth, but Dylis placed her finger to her lips and pointed at Lydia.
Lydia was sleeping with her back to him. It would be much nicer to ignore the fairy and move closer to Lydia and drift back to sleep. He closed his eyes and Dylis tapped his cheek.
Then her voice was in his ear. “Get up. We have a problem.”
The last remnants of sleep slid away. This wasn’t her being annoyed because they didn’t go home. This was something else. Icy panic got his blood pumping and he slid out of bed. He wasn’t stupid. He knew when Dylis meant business.
He pulled on his jeans and slipped on his shirt against the cool morning before padding quietly out of the bedroom and closing the door.
He didn’t speak to Dylis until they reached the bottom of the stairs. She stood on the bannister and waited.
“What is it?” he whispered. Maybe this would be a short conversation and he could go back to bed, but instinct told him otherwise. The hair down the back of his neck prickled and he almost tasted the fairy magic in the air.
“Come with me.”
Dylis led him to the kitchen and pointed out a window.
“What the hell?” he muttered.
Across the lawn, crammed into every inch of space, were mirrors. Hundreds of them.
“It’s Shea,” Dylis said. “He’s trying to force you to find the Window.”
He glared at Dylis. “Thank you. I’d worked that out.” He’d also worked out that Shea knew where he was—and that left Lydia vulnerable. Everywhere he turned Shea was reminding him that he couldn’t escape. He was running out of options far quicker than he liked. He gritted his teeth and stared outside. He shouldn’t have stayed here. That wouldn’t have mattered; the Greys had followed him and tried to make trouble last night. It was only a matter of time until Shea involved Lydia. “Dammit.”
“You knew he’d push.”
“I didn’t expect him to push this hard.” This was hardly in the same category as unraveling clothes and filling his car with bees. He needed to gain the upper hand somehow. “Do you have the Counter-Window yet?”
Her tiny tongue traced her lip. She was about to tell him something he really wasn’t going to like. What could be worse than hundreds of mirrors in Lydia’s yard? “Does Shea have it?”
“No. I know where the Counter-Window is, but I don’t have it yet. It’s being acquired for me.”
“Meaning?”
“Your father will have it very soon.”
That wasn’t too bad. “Do you think Shea suspects the Window is here?”
Dylis shook her head. “We can’t even find it.”
True, and he and Dylis had tried yesterday evening. While he’d worked, she’d poked around in boxes, the stable, and cabins between trying to get rid of the troublesome Greys. She’d brought him a couple of mirrors but they were nothing special. He was beginning to doubt it was here. “Maybe it was once, but it’s moved on.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t go there. If it’s moved on, we’ve got nothing to go on.”
He raked his fingers through his hair. If the mirror had moved on it could be anywhere in the world. “I need the—”
“I know.”
“So all I can do is ignore Shea and hope everything will fall into place.” And get rid of all the mirrors before Lydia woke up and looked out of a window and asked what was going on. Simple.
“About that. Have you noticed something about those mirrors?”
Caspian walked up to the window and actually looked at them. They were all antique. He moved to another window, and around the house until he’d seen as much as he could without going outside. Every one of them was old and valuable. The bad feeling worked its way to his toes which curled against the wood floor as if they could find somewhere to hide.
“Tell me they aren’t stolen.” But they were, they had to be. They’d been taken from museums, art galleries, and private houses overnight. This morning people would be waking up and wondering where the mirror worth thousands was and calling the police. And who knew what Shea had left—probably a note with his name and number on it. “Bastard son of a…” Whatever. Shea must have had a human mother or father once, but there was nothing remotely human about him. He was one hundred percent calculating fairy.
He was never going to be able to explain them away when, not if, the cops came to Callaway House. Because of him Lydia was now involved. He wished he’d just gone home instead of staying. At least then it would just be him in trouble. Now Shea knew where she lived. This was getting worse with every passing minute. He looked at Dylis. “Can you get rid of them?”
“I could, but I don’t know where they came from, and I’m guessing he’ll just bring more.”
How many mirrors were in Charleston? How long could this go on? “How long until you get the Counter-Window?”
“Not fast enough. And I can’t hide every mirror he brings.”
She was right. Shea had boxed him into a corner with cunning and theft. He’d underestimated the Grey and was now going to have to pay the price.
“You’re going to have to
go out and reason with him.”
By reason she meant cut a deal that wasn’t going to cost more than he could afford. It was times like this Caspian wished he’d studied law. Legalese would’ve given him a great background in tangling fairies in clauses. Although to be fair lawyers only came about because of fairies trying to trick humans out of unborn children and souls.
“It’s too early to be giving up my soul. I try not to do that before nine.”
“Ha ha.” Dylis crossed her arms. “Not funny.”
“I’m not laughing. Isn’t this one of those moments where having my father intervene would be a good thing?” While not the best time to meet his father, now was as good a time as any.
“What would you have the Prince of Annwyn do? Return the mirrors? Kill a banished lord, his mother’s lover, no less? Think, Caspian. This isn’t about you.”
Strangely it felt all about him. He boiled the kettle and made a cup of extra strong coffee. He needed to be thinking as clearly as possible. At the moment all he could come up with was I’m so screwed.
How long until Lydia woke up and saw that all was not right with the world? How was he going to explain the mirrors?
“Okay. My father won’t step in because it wouldn’t go well politically. You’re here in his place and you’re telling me to cut a deal to my terms. However, there are penalties for dealing with Greys and because I’m half-fairy I still have to bear those penalties… which means my father thinks I’m a liability and wants to see me in the river.”
“You are exceedingly dense. I’ve given you a lifetime of education in all things Court.” She spun and walked away. “Your father doesn’t want to see you dead or drowned in the river of damned souls. However, he can’t intervene without revealing your identity. You think one Grey is a problem?” She threw her hands in the air. “Imagine all the banished on your doorstep, knowing who your father is. Plus, he’s also got a lot more to deal with right now because of his mother’s affair with Shea.”
