by Judi Fennell
Merlin held up his white-tipped wings. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just here to give you food for thought.”
“I don’t need another conscience. The one I have is enough. And it’s telling me I need to stay not only for Peter and the children, but also for Zane. He doesn’t know it, but he’s searching for something.
“Uh, sweetie? I don’t think so. If he were searching for something, he wouldn’t be selling the place.”
“That’s exactly why I have to stay, Merlin. Zane thinks he wants to get rid of this house, but there’s something here he needs. Peter used to tell me what it’d been like for him growing up without any security, any place he could call his own. Zane has financial security and a condo, but his father died years ago and, more recently, his mother. That’s it for him. All he has in the world. Oh, he talks about his teammates being his family, but his job is up in the air, and players get traded or injured all the time. Coaches move to different teams. Owners sell their franchises. Nothing’s stable. Zane doesn’t have a grounding spot. A home base. This place could be that for him.”
“But what if he doesn’t see that?”
“Then I have to show him. It’s the least I can do for all the pain I caused Peter, pain that has trickled down to Zane.”
“Huh?”
“If I hadn’t screwed up and gotten the townspeople talking, Zane wouldn’t have gone through what he’d gone through and—”
“But he also wouldn’t have turned out to be the man he is today. Do you think he’d want to be any different?”
Vana shrugged. “We’ll never know. What happened is in the past and can’t be changed.”
Well, okay, it could, but if The Fates weren’t yet on her case, undoing the last twenty years of Zane’s life would have them out in full force. With two Time alterations already under her belt, she’d be doing more than tempting them; she’d be in full bring-it-on mode, and one shouldn’t do that if one didn’t want her own Life Thread snipped. “I’m doing this for future generations.”
“Okay. Fine. Whatever. Sounds like a plan.” Merlin hopped onto the edge of the paint can. “I guess you don’t need me since you’ve got it all under control. I’ll see ya around.”
With a flap of his wings, Merlin took off—and flung zillions of tiny paint droplets everywhere: the porch floor, the railing, the steps, the spindles, even the siding on the house. Great. One more mess she had to fix.
Vana sighed and stepped off the porch to survey the damage. Besides paint being everywhere, the shutters were lopsided, two chimneys needed repointing, a section of fence had been knocked out of whack by a falling tree limb, and the overgrown shrubs had been trampled by the earlier mob of people.
This place would take forever to fix up. And while that could be a good thing to keep Zane here, she didn’t want him to see the house as an obligation. A time-sucking money pit. He’d definitely want to get rid of it then.
She fiddled with her fingers. She could try to fix this…
She looked in the front window. Zane wasn’t in the parlor anymore. He wouldn’t have to know—if she got it right. If she didn’t… Well, that was not an option.
Closing her eyes, she conjured up the memory of their first kiss. The taste, the feel, the intensity, the way her magic had flowed through her like a fine symphony. Then she puckered up and gave it a whirl—
Only to open her eyes and see the porch spinning around the house like a merry-go-round.
Chapter 24
Zane was just about to step onto the porch when a paint can went sailing by.
Then the old rocking chair his mother used to sit in during the evenings.
Then a drop cloth. Two spindles that had rotted out and fallen onto the porch. Several old newspapers, an assortment of dead leaves, and a squirrel running in the opposite direction like a hamster on a wheel.
Zane now knew what that felt like.
And there was Vana, standing across from him on the other side of the spinning top, staring in horror.
He tried to keep a mirror image off his own face. The only way to fix this was for her to gain some control, and preventing her from panicking was the first step.
Zane grabbed the lintel above his head and leaned out over the whirling floorboards. “Something wrong?”
Her gaze shot to his. “You don’t see it?”
He had to laugh. Either that or cry. “Oh I see it. It’s the reason I haven’t stepped out the door. Question is, what can you do about it?”
“Um, well…” Vana closed her eyes, clutched her fingers together in a death grip, and puckered up.
The image socked him in the gut and twisted his insides with desire.
He really did need to get laid if he was thinking with his dick at a time like this. Maybe he’d clear out tonight and head back to the city. See if Stephanie was still unattached, take her out for dinner, then a night of mutual pleasure. It’d worked for them in the past.
Yeah, and that was why he hadn’t spoken to her in over six months, had no idea if she was seeing anyone, and had come up here on his own.
“Holy smokes!”
God, he hated that term.
He opened his eyes slowly. “What now?”
“Um, nothing.”
The wide-eyed stare she had while looking up toward his roof didn’t say nothing to him.
“What’s up there, Vana?”
She didn’t answer him because she’d closed her eyes again and puckered up. This time his libido was wise enough to shut up so his gut could churn with dread instead.
The squirrel lapped the front door again.
Vana opened one eye, which she slammed shut.
Then she puckered up again.
“Vana, please, no more.” Zane was eyeing the width of the porch. If he started in the kitchen, he should be able to work up enough speed to jump it. If he didn’t, he might break his leg on the landing. Again.
When Vana emitted another “holy smokes!” Zane was willing to take the risk. She’d already proved that she could heal his legs.
Of course, she’d already proved that she was good at breaking them, too.
Zane backed up into the kitchen, took a running start, yelled, “Don’t move, Henry!” before he ran past the armoire, kicked off at the threshold, and managed to land on the top step with a huge crescendo.
Crescendo?
Zane ran down the stairs. Each one played a musical note. It sounded like the opening of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony.
Vana’s eyes flew open again and her mouth dropped. If she said “holy smokes” one more time, Zane didn’t know what he’d do.
Another “holy” had just made it past her lips when he kissed her. Hell, it’d stopped her mixed-up magic before.
She gasped when their lips met, grasped his wrists when he held her face, and melted into him when he couldn’t help but slip his tongue inside.
She felt so good. Tasted better. Fit against him perfectly and drove him half out of his mind when she tentatively flicked her tongue over his. Her fingernails curled into him as she kissed him back.
Something flew off the porch and smacked into the backs of his legs.
“Ow!” he muttered, yanking his mouth from hers.
“Oh, no. What’d I do now?”
She said it so forlornly that Zane immediately lost any anger he had. She hadn’t done it on purpose. But why had she done it at all?
“Vana, why did you use magic? Didn’t we discuss this?”
“Well, yes, but the mess… And it works when you kiss me, Zane. It even worked when I remembered you kissing me, so that’s what I tried to do just now.”
“Well, it’s obviously not working now. You need to stop.”
“I know, but what about… them?”
He didn’t like the way she said that, really didn’t like the way she stared at the roof, and pretty much dreaded turning around to find out why.
Gargoyles were dancing on his roof.
The slate ro
of tiles were disintegrating under their feet, the pieces sliding over the edge and crashing onto the metal porch roof below. Combined with the stairs, he had one hellacious symphony going on in his front yard.
And then a car pulled through the gate at the end of the drive.
“Quick! Get rid of them!” Zane spun around. Like his porch was still doing.
“And stop the porch! And the steps! For God’s sakes, turn off the steps! And what about the gargoyles?” He should be doing something. Running around picking up far-flung paint cans or collecting the brushes—one was stuck in the bark of the oak tree’s trunk—or chasing the gargoyles who—oh, God!—jumped off the roof and were now turning into Tasmanian devils all over the side lawn. Thank God for the overgrown rosebushes that shielded them from the driveway, but how long would that last? One whirling dervish on the front lawn, and this whole thing would turn into an even bigger circus.
“Vana!”
She hadn’t moved. Except for her hands. She was wringing them as if she were trying to unscrew her fingers from her body.
And her lips. They were moving, forming a pucker—
He kissed her again. Anything he could do to boost her powers for good.
“Go for it, Vana,” he whispered when he released her. “I know you can do this.”
Her smile was like a beacon of light that would turn into a spotlight on this craziness if she didn’t fix it now. The car had just rounded the last bend.
Zane sucked in a breath, his gaze darting between the approaching car and the gargoyles.
Then the car stopped.
“It’s fixed,” said Vana.
Two words. Such relief. Zane exhaled and glanced over his shoulder.
The gargoyles were gone, the roof was back in shape—better actually, because the gutters were no longer listing at the top—the porch had stopped moving, and the paint cans were back in place. She’d missed the paintbrush on the tree, but he could pull that off when she wasn’t looking.
“The stairs?”
She nodded. “Muted.”
“Thank God.”
The car door slammed, ending further conversation.
Gary was back. Jesus. Didn’t the guy ever learn?
“I know, I know,” he said striding toward them, his hands in the air. “You don’t want to hear what I have to say, but you have to listen to me, Zane.”
“I don’t have to do anything, Huss. You, however, have to get off my property.”
“So here’s the thing. What if it were my property?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Hear me out. I’ve given this a lot of thought and it makes perfect sense.” Gary, the sleazy, smarmy politician was at work again. “I want to buy the place.”
“In what universe?”
Vana sucked in a breath and looked at Zane sharply. Great. Did that mean there were other universes? He didn’t want to know.
“Seriously, Zane. You want to sell; I want to buy. It’s perfect. Just name the price.”
Part of the reason Zane was an effective ballplayer was that he analyzed the play while it was in motion and came up with countermeasures when it didn’t go well, but what the hell was he supposed to do with this bomb? Name the price? Since when did politicians make that kind of money?
Although… Gary was probably counting all the money he was going to make with those damn tours of his. Tours set up at the expense of the Harrison name.
“I’ll have to think about it.” The words surprised him as much as they did Gary.
“What’s there to think about? I thought you couldn’t wait to get rid of it. I’m giving you the answer to your problem. I’m even prepared to give you a nonrefundable deposit right now.” He waved a stack of hundreds in front of him.
The thing was, it wasn’t just about the money. Sure, it’d be a nice chunk of change, but selling the house was about more than that, and Zane couldn’t shake the feeling that Gary was up to his old tricks.
“Let me sleep on it, Gar.”
Gary looked at Vana, who was having a hard time keeping the smile off her face. “Can’t you get him to see how perfect this is?”
“Me?” Vana splayed a hand on her chest and gave up trying not to smile. “No, I don’t think I can.”
“I said I’ll think about it, Gary. I haven’t even considered what I’m asking for the house, but when I do, I’ll let you know.”
“You’re not going to find anyone else around here who’ll want it, Zane. Not with its reputation.”
It was that reputation he was thinking about.
And wondering why he cared.
***
“Oh, Zane, I knew you couldn’t sell the house! I just knew it!” Without thinking about it, Vana flung herself into Zane’s arms the minute Gary’s taillights disappeared around the first bend.
When his hands gripped her arms and held her where their faces were inches apart, she thought about it. She couldn’t not think about it.
“Vana, I didn’t say I’m not selling. I said I’d think about it.”
“But he was giving you the perfect opportunity. If you’d wanted to sell it, you would have. There’s something making you hang on to the place.” She’d like to think it was something she’d done, but she knew better. If anything, what she’d done should have had him giving the house away.
She glanced over his shoulder, but the gargoyles were still waiting for her to find them since she was “it.” A game of hide-and-seek was the only way she could keep them from running all over the place. Gargoyles loved parlor games.
“Vana.” Zane scrubbed at the side of his face. “Let’s table this discussion for now, okay? I just want to call it a day and go into town to get something to eat.”
Tabling it was a good idea. It’d keep her here another day.
And another night.
Chapter 25
Gary waited for Zane’s car to pass his hiding spot behind the Ertels’ shed. Good, the genie was in there with him. Talk about perfect timing. That’d make this much easier.
When the taillights disappeared around the bend, Gary got out and ran to the trunk for the supplies he’d rounded up after his errands this afternoon. He’d set several wheels in motion in case Zane hadn’t gone for his offer, but at least now he could put Marshall’s money back. With any luck Lynda wouldn’t find out. Nah, make that, with a genie Lynda wouldn’t find out because the woman was like a hawk. He yanked the tarp over the car. Overkill probably because the Ertels’ eyesight wasn’t what it’d once been, but Gary didn’t want to take any more chances than he already was.
He checked around the edge of the shed, slung his supply bag over his shoulder, and set off along the wooded path toward Zane’s house. He’d prefer to do this in the dark of night, but they’d be home then and who knew how light a sleeper a genie was? Did genies even sleep?
Gary shrugged. He’d find out soon enough.
Carefully, he watched every step. That talking bird might be flying around, and if that was the case, the jig would be up. He clenched his fingers tighter around the mesh bag he’d bought to contain the bird.
All in all, though, it was ridiculously easy to get into the house. He should probably warn Zane about the dangers of leaving old screens in open windows, but… why?
He popped one out, climbed in, and voilà, instant access to unlimited power—
Holy shit! The idiot had left the thing right on the table. There, in tarnished brass, stood the oddly fluted thing that had to be the genie’s bottle. Heh, Hollywood had gotten it wrong back in the ‘60s; the bottle wasn’t glass, but brass.
Gary scooped it up and shoved it into the bag. Now on to find those journals because who knew what else Old Man Harrison had found and this was the perfect opportunity to snoop.
He was halfway to the kitchen when he stopped. Had that armoire moved?
Hell. He was imagining things.
He took another step, keeping a sharp eye on the furniture.
No
thing. Though… he thought he’d seen some movement out in the foyer.
He spun around quickly. Nothing but a coat rack and the vacuum cleaner, neither of which was so much as breathing.
Normally a comment like that would be ridiculous, but with a genie around, anything was possible.
Like the tackle from the… coat rack that dropped him to the floor.
Or maybe it was because the armoire tripped him.
Gary smacked his forehead on the floor and twisted, the bag with the genie bottle skittering away. But he had bigger problems: that coat rack could throw a punch. He was trying to dodge the wildly swinging arms, kicking it in what he hoped were its nuts, while he half crab-walked away from the armoire that was stomping across the floor like a giant.
This was Fucked Up.
So was the rug that started undulating beneath him.
Fighting with the fringe that was wrapping around his fingers, Gary scrambled out from beneath the psychotic hunk of wood, scooped the bag, yanked the genie bottle out, and brandished it in front of him. “Get back or I’ll melt this. Then where will your genie be? Where will you be?”
Either they couldn’t hear, or they didn’t get the concept of smelting; they kept coming. And now the armoire’s doors were flapping. That would hurt more than the spindly arms of the coat rack if it caught him, and, man, these guys could move.
And then something small, shiny, and metallic flew across the room, just missing his nose and clacking like a bad set of chattering teeth. What the fuck?
Gary headed toward the kitchen since the coat rack stood shoulder to shoulder (figuratively speaking) with the armoire, blocking his escape route.
And then he stumbled into the kitchen to find… dishes. Standing on their edges. Lined up like a field of linebackers—with their ruffled edges fluttering in the breeze. Except there was no breeze. And these were dishes. Inanimate objects.
Or were they?
