Daughter of the Spellcaster

by Maggie Shayne

  She stood behind a crowd of people, wearing a cape-style coat, and holding her purse, brown knit beret-style hat, matching scarf and leather gloves in front of her belly.

  It was roughly like a bear trying to hide behind a dandelion, but trying was automatic. Ryan was up front, near the graveside, which was clearly a hole in the ground even though it was decorated in an effort to keep it from looking like one. The shiny brass frame that held the casket was draped in fabric. But nothing could hide the fact that it covered a rectangular pit in the dirt.

  As the priest spoke, Lena caught Ryan looking for her, his probing eyes scanning the crowd as she tried to shrink into herself. Eventually he spotted her, as she had known he would. Their eyes met, and just like that her heart flipped in her chest. Was he really more beautiful than he’d been before? Was she really that hungry just for the sight of him? Emotions started hurling themselves, like rampaging waters demanding release, against the floodgates that had been keeping them where they belonged for the seven months since she’d left him. Her eyes filled with tears and some of them leaked through. Pregnancy hormones, she told herself. Damn them.

  She shifted sideways, breaking the eye contact and silencing those raging waters inside her—for the moment. There was a chest-high tombstone right beside her, and she moved to stand behind it. But all too soon the mourners were filing forward one by one, shaking Ryan’s hand, wishing him well. Some threw dirt. Some laid flowers on top of the shining wood of the casket.

  Lena didn’t get into the line. She stayed where she was, feeling trapped. The shielding crowd of bodies around her had dissipated. If she stepped into the open, she would be fully exposed to Ryan’s eyes. So, like a coward, she stayed where she was and just waited.

  And soon they were all gone. Even the priest. Bahru met her eyes and gave her a silent nod, and then he, too, went to a waiting car.

  The only car left was clearly Ryan’s. A sporty little black thing that she had no idea how to identify. He ignored it, brushed the dirt from his hands and came closer. Lena leaned her folded hands on the tombstone, as if that would explain why she was still standing behind it, when she knew it wouldn’t. She just looked dumb. But soon enough he would understand why.

  “I’m really glad you came.” Blinding sunlight streamed from the January sky. There was only a little snow in the cemetery, tufts and puffs clinging to the shadowy places. The rest of the ground was sticky with mud, more like spring than late winter.

  “Of course I came. I loved him.”

  A corner of his mouth pulled upward. “He loved you, too.”

  He’d lost weight, she thought. There were harsher angles to his face now. As if he’d been sick, maybe, or just getting over the flu. And she noticed, too, that his whiskers were coming in. Ryan had a beard that just wanted to grow. Every morning he shaved, and every night he looked like he hadn’t bothered.

  She’d loved that about him. By midnight those bristles were just the right length to give her chills when they rasped over her skin in bed.

  Her heart skipped; her belly tightened.

  “Are you coming to the mansion?”

  He was getting closer, taking a few steps, then stopping as if he expected her to move toward him, looking more and more puzzled that she didn’t.

  “For the reception?” she asked, knowing that wasn’t the right term but thinking there wasn’t one. Food, alcohol, stories about the deceased, traditional post-funeral activities...what did you call that? “I don’t think so.”

  She didn’t want to put herself through the pretense, much less parade her belly around for the world to see and wonder about, maybe even ask about—at least the rude among them.

  What she wanted to do was to rush into Ryan’s arms. At the same time she wanted to run away without giving him a glimpse of her belly or an answer to what had to be his countless unasked questions.

  She didn’t do either. She just stood there.

  “I don’t blame you. I don’t want to go, either.”

  “Then don’t go. You need to take care of yourself first.” It was automatic, that answer.

  Ryan smiled softly. “I’ve missed those affirmations of yours. Your positive-thinking tips of the day, I used to call them. You always seemed to have one for every occasion.”

  “And you always thought they were cute but useless.”

  “Or so I said at the time. Truth is, they stuck with me. I’ve even put a few of them into practice.”

  “Oh yeah? And how’s it going so far?”

  He shrugged. “I guess I ran out. I’ve been wondering what you’d say about today, about how I’m supposed to deal with things. I couldn’t come up with anything for this.”

  She drew a deep breath. “Try to find something to focus on that feels just a little bit better. Try to do whatever will help you feel a little bit of relief. If you don’t want to go to the gathering at your father’s mansion, then don’t go.”

  “That wouldn’t look very good.”

  “Ryan, since when do you care how things look to other people? You drove your own car today instead of riding in a limo, for heaven’s sake.”

  He lifted his gaze to hers. “That’s a good point. But what about my father?” He turned to look at the casket as he asked the question. “Wouldn’t he expect me to be there?”

  “Right now, Ryan, your father understands everything. He’s at complete peace, at complete oneness. He’s achieved enlightenment and would no more put any expectations on you than he would...jump out of that box and dance a jig. He’s not there, Ryan. He’s in bliss. He’s with your mom. And they both understand everything you ever did, felt or thought, and it’s okay. It’s all okay.”

  “That’s good. That actually helps a little.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Anything else? Other bits of witchy wisdom for the infidel to try?”

  “Yeah. When the things that have your attention are very bad, the be-all and end-all solution is to get distracted.”

  He stared at her, even tried for a lecherous leer. “Are you...offering to distract me?”

  “Yeah, just not in the way you think.” She drew a deep breath and stepped out from behind the headstone. She had unbuttoned her coat, so her belly was in plain sight.

  “Son of a—”

  “Or daughter. I didn’t let them tell me. But I’m pretty sure she’s a girl.”

  He was dead silent, just staring at her belly. Then, all at once, his expression changed, and she knew he was asking himself the obvious question and doing the math in his head, counting how many months since she had left.

  And then his head came up and he stared into her eyes. “Is it mine?”

  “Yeah.”

  He gaped, then clamped his mouth shut, looked up at the sky, clapped a hand to his forehead, turned in a complete circle and faced her again. “My God, Lena. My God, why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

  “Do you really need to ask me that?”

  He frowned at her. “Uh, yeah. I really need to ask you that.”

  She said, “Think about it, Ryan. Think about our last night together and then ask me why I didn’t tell you.” Suddenly she realized how pointless this discussion was, that they were never going to see their way across the chasm between them. She yanked out her cell phone and flipped it open.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “A taxi. It’s not like I can flag one down out here in the middle of nowhere, is it?”

  “I’ll drive you back.” He lowered his eyes to her belly again, shaking his head in bewilderment. “It’ll give us time to talk about this.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about, Ryan. It is what it is, and trust me when I tell you, I don’t want, need or expect anything from you. I can do this alone.”

  “Well, that’s fine, but I get some
say in this, don’t I?”

  “You had your say already.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Angry, and knowing she shouldn’t be—he had every right to be upset—she accepted defeat and walked toward the car, pulling her coat closed and doing up the buttons on the way. She was wearing flats, but the ground was wet. She was almost there when her foot slid on a patch of slick mud and she started going down, her arms flailing like some cartoon character.

  He was behind her instantly and caught her before she fell, so she landed against his chest, with his arms around her above her beach ball and below her boobs. He stayed that way for a second, his palms turning to rest on top of her belly, and her helpful progeny chose that moment to kick hard, three rapid-fire, Jackie Chan-worthy thrusts directly where his hands were.

  Automatically she looked up at his face for his reaction to what he’d just felt and then wished she hadn’t. Because his expression went from stunned to rapturous in the space of a heartbeat, and when he met her eyes again his were wide and delighted, like a little kid on Christmas morning.

  She understood it. When she had first felt the baby kick, that was the moment when the whole thing took on a new level of...of realness. Up until then she’d thought of the baby more as a concept than a reality. But once it had kicked, it was real. That’s when it became a she—or he, she admitted, but probably she—wiggling around inside her body, just waiting to come out.

  Ryan’s smile was the biggest, most genuine smile Lena had ever seen.

  Okay, kid, she thought, good call. You made him smile on the day he buried his dad, so I guess it was worth it.

  His smile died as he stared into her eyes, and his expression softened. “Are you okay?” he asked, straightening her up again but keeping one arm around her shoulders as they turned toward the car.

  “Yeah, fine. I didn’t fall.”

  “I mean—I mean, you know...overall? You’ve been pregnant for...”

  “Almost eight months now. And yes, I’m fine, and the baby is, too. Healthy. Growing like a weed.”

  “I’m glad.” He opened the passenger door and stood holding it while she got in, then went around to get behind the wheel while she fastened the seat belt in what had become her customary fashion, with the lap belt behind her, and the shoulder harness across her chest.

  He started the engine and pulled the vehicle into motion, glancing at her as she buckled up with a puzzled frown. “When is the baby due?”

  “Thirteen days past Imbolc.”

  He frowned in confusion.

  “Sorry. Mid-February. I’m calling her my little groundhog.”

  He shot her a look. “‘Her’ again. What makes you so sure it’s a girl?”

  She was surprised at the line of questioning. He actually sounded interested. “Well, like I said, I haven’t let the doctor tell me that for sure. But I have my own feelings about her, and I think she’s a girl.”

  “Where have you been living?”

  It was her turn to frown. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you vanished. The firm said you resigned. Your building manager said you’d opted not to renew the lease on your apartment. Your mother sold her place in Brooklyn—”

  “You looked for me?”

  “Of course I looked for you.”

  “Huh.” That she hadn’t expected. She had kept the same cell number and he had called numerous times, but she’d chosen not to answer. And after a while he’d just stopped.

  “You didn’t need to hide from me, you know.”

  She sent him a quick, sharp look. “I wasn’t.”

  The look he returned was an “Oh, come on now” sort of expression, as if she’d said something ridiculous.

  “No, really. Bahru knew where I was the entire time. In fact, he’s the one who tipped me off about the place.”

  Ryan sent her a searching look. “Bahru?”

  “Yeah. I went to say goodbye to him and...and to Ernst. And as he hugged me, Bahru slipped me a note with a URL on it. Turned out to be a real estate listing. He said he had a feeling it was meant for me from the moment he’d seen the place. And when I saw it, I knew he was right.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. It’s an old vineyard near Ithaca, right on the shore of Cayuga Lake. Kind of decrepit, but we’re restoring it as we go along, and it’s just full of character. It was called Havenwood. Someday I’d like to replant the grapevines and try my hand at making wine.”

  She almost added that she and her mother were convinced the place had a resident ghost, too, but decided against it. He’d never taken her beliefs seriously, and frankly, she was enjoying his interest too much to want to ruin it by eliciting his skeptical indulgence of things he didn’t understand.

  “I’d love to see it,” he said.

  She met his eyes but didn’t answer. Because he might be asking permission to visit, which might mean after the baby came, which might mean he was actually asking to be involved in her life. Both their lives. And she wasn’t sure she wanted that. Nor was she sure she didn’t want it. And moreover, she wasn’t sure she had the right to make that call. It was really up to her little groundhog.

  In response to her silence he said, “You look tired. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m good. But it’s been a long day. How about you? This must have been a grueling day for you. I know how things were between you and your father. Did you ever...you know, make up?”

  “We weren’t really estranged, just...”

  “Cold,” she said. “Distant.”

  He shrugged. “That was his choice, not mine.”

  Okay, still touchy on that subject, she thought.

  “I’ll be all right,” he said. “Why don’t you lean your head back. Close your eyes. We’ve got another forty minutes back to the city. Here, I’ll find something soothing.” He found a new-age station that was right up her alley—the same station she always used to tune in to during those beautiful weeks of their passionate and life-altering fling.

  He remembered....

  He was acting more like the prince she had mistaken him for than he ever had...in this lifetime, anyway. She took his advice and leaned her head back, closed her eyes and drifted back to the night she had first met him at that fancy-assed ball honoring his father.

  * * *

  It was him, it was him, it was him!

  She had tried to contain her childlike enthusiasm as she stared wide-eyed at her reflection. All alone in the restroom of the posh Waldorf Astoria, she tried to come to grips with the fact that she had just met the very prince from her childhood fantasies. That vision in her mamma’s black mirror. Her prince.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Lena,” she whispered to her reflection. “That was a fairy tale from childhood. A fantasy. Imagination. There’s no handsome prince, no exotic palace, no garden oasis in the desert.”

  Oh, yeah? Then where the heck did she come from? she asked herself.

  Because the instant she had set eyes on Ryan McNally, she had heard, very distinctly, a woman’s voice from close beside her saying “He’s the one you’ve been waiting for.” Except no one was there. Then, as she had scanned the crowd, she could have sworn she’d seen her old friend Lilia meandering through it.

  She closed her eyes and concentrated. “Lilia was an imaginary friend. She was not—I repeat, was not—out there. Because she does not—I repeat, does not—exist.”

  Soft laughter came from behind her. Oh, hell, she wasn’t alone in the restroom after all. She opened her eyes and stared into the mirror again—and saw Lilia standing right behind her left shoulder, all decked out in white robes like a desert angel, shoulders bare, skin like copper, hair jet-black and blowing in a non-existent breeze like a model on a magazine cover. And glowing. She was definitely...glowing. />
  Lena spun around, but of course there was no one there.

  All right, this is ridiculous.

  She pulled out her cell phone, flipped it open, hit the listing marked Mom.

  “I was just going to call you,” Selma said without even a hello first. “I had the oddest feeling—”

  “My imaginary friend is back, Mom.”

  Selma was silent. Lena could see her as clearly as if they were on Skype, frowning and fingering her oversized pentacle the way she always did. Her mom wasn’t a broom-closet sort of woman. She was more an in-

  your-face witch. Or had been until they’d moved to the country. She’d been a lot more discreet since then.

  “Well? Say something, will you? I’m freaking out here.”

  “Where are you?” Her mother was calm, composed, like always.

  “At the Waldorf Astoria. The reception for my new assignment, Ernst McNally, eccentric, world-traveling billionaire. Any of this ringing a bell, Mom?”

  “Yes, of course, just calm down. Take deep, cleansing breaths. Come on, now.”

  Lena nodded, closed her eyes and set the phone down. Then she inhaled nasally, raising her arms over her head, and exhaled thoroughly, lowering them in front of her body. Three times was the charm. She was calm, centered. She picked up the phone again.

  “Better?” her mom asked, uncannily knowing she had returned.

  “Yes.”

  “Now tell me what happened.”

  “I was at the reception. Chatting with Mr. McNally and his spiritual guide, a really eccentric-looking man called Bahru. Wait, I snapped a pic when he wasn’t looking.” She took the phone from her ear, located the picture and emailed it. “I like him. He’s very wise.”

  “Ernst or Bahru?”

  “Bahru. Ernst seems more sad and searching than wise.”

  “Oh, got the pic,” her mother said. “Wow, he is eccentric-looking. He wore that to the Waldorf Astoria?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Lena said, seeing again the red-and-white sari-style getup. “Ernst says he wears it everywhere. And the dreadlocks are all the way to his butt.”

  “Go on, what happened next?”