“I don’t...follow.”
She pursed her lips. “I saw them in a magic mirror when I was first learning how to scry.”
“Scry?”
“You know, when someone sees images in a crystal ball? That’s scrying. We can do it in rippling water, in dancing flames, in black mirrors. The very first time Mom let me try it, I saw this entire story unfolding before my eyes.”
He didn’t laugh, didn’t look at her as if she was nuts. That was gratifying.
“It’s not supposed to happen that way. Usually you see bits and pieces, or symbols that you have to try to interpret. This was different. Powerful and full-blown. As a little girl, I thought they were dreams. Fantasies, you know? And so did Mom.”
“Sounds like you don’t think that anymore,” he said, flipping another page, looking from the crayon drawings and painstakingly printed words on construction paper back to her.
“No, I don’t. In hindsight, it’s very clear to me that these stories were coming to me from a past lifetime.”
“Your past lifetime?”
She held his gaze steadily as she nodded. And then she forced herself to say, “And yours.”
He blinked. “Mine.”
“You were the prince. I recognized you the very first time I saw you. You’re identical.”
“Well, yeah, clearly I have purple hair and everything.” He was smiling, trying to lighten the mood a little.
Lena smiled back. “Obviously you’re not identical to the drawings. I was barely eight. I couldn’t draw what I was seeing. But what I saw in that mirror, and in my dreams so many times from then on, was you. Everything, your eyes, your smile, your mannerisms. I was seeing you in those visions. And I know it probably sounds crazy to you, Ryan, but I believe those dreams and visions are true. I believe we were together in another lifetime. Long ago, in some desert kingdom. I think...I think it was Babylon. And...I don’t think it ended well. I think I was murdered. And you were trying to save me, but you couldn’t get there in time.”
“Holy shit. You’re serious about this.”
“I know, this probably makes you— Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything, but...”
“Hey.” He covered her hand with his. “It’s okay, Lena. I’m starting to think there’s more to all this stuff you believe in than I knew.”
“Thanks for not laughing at me,” she said.
“Maybe that’s why you’re having these weird dreams now, because you’re...seeing me again. You think?”
“I think it’s connected, but I just don’t know how.”
He nodded very slowly, his eyes thoughtful. As if he was seriously turning everything over in his mind, not just humoring her. “So that’s it, that’s what you wanted to tell me tonight.”
“Yeah.” She sighed, relieved that it was out and he hadn’t reacted with disbelief or ridicule. “That, and that I think we found each other again for a reason. To make it right this time around somehow. Finish something we didn’t get to finish back then. But yeah, that was it.” She studied his eyes. “What did you want to tell me?”
He was staring into her eyes, seemed to have gotten lost in them, and then he shook his head a little and blinked. “Oh, right. Um... There were some guys in the hardware store today. They were talking about a couple of animal murders right here in Milbury.”
“Animal murders? What...?”
“Someone apparently slit the throat of a calf last night and caught all the blood. They must have taken it somewhere for...something.”
She grimaced at him. “That’s terrible.”
“They said it was the second time in a month. And when I kind of insinuated myself into the discussion, they asked who I was. I said I was out here visiting you, and the hardware store guy said he’d heard you and Selma were witches, and that these animal murders hadn’t started until after you’d moved to town.”
“Oh, hell, Ryan. This is awful. People out here won’t understand, especially if they think we’re out sacrificing baby animals by moonlight.” A shiver whispered up her spine as she recalled sidelong glances and murmurs behind hands the last few times she’d been in town. She’d written them off as the result of old-fashioned attitudes about unwed mothers, but now she understood.
“It’s more than awful,” he said. “It’s dangerous. And I couldn’t help but wonder if someone else got the same idea and maybe did something to your mom the other night in the woods.”
“Or not.” She frowned, processing the thoughts swirling through her head into logical order. “She saw something out in the woods, right? Something that made her get out of her car and go out there for a closer look. She came across what looked like a ritual circle, and she must have thought it was important, because she took pictures of it.”
“Did you ask her about those pictures today?”
“Yeah. She doesn’t remember taking them. But she does remember her circle with her friends, and she says she definitely didn’t take any pictures there. Which I pretty much already figured. It’s very bad form to take photos in a Wiccan circle, especially when there are broom-closeted practitioners taking part.”
“So she took the photos in those woods,” Ryan said. “And then something happened to her. Maybe it wasn’t someone blaming her for calf murders. Maybe it was someone trying to keep her quiet about them instead.”
“But how? I mean, what the hell could they have done to make her lose her memory like that?”
“A roofie would do it,” he said softly. “And they could have poured some liquor into her so everyone would assume she’d been drinking.”
“Dammit, Ryan, I don’t like where this is going. I don’t like it at all.”
He put a strong, reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I don’t think you need to be too concerned. I mean, think about it. You’ve got some kids messing with the occult, they kill a couple of animals and maybe roofie your mom to keep her quiet when she stumbles onto them. That might be the extent of it. I’m betting they got a good enough scare by almost being caught to make them give it up, or at least take it somewhere else.”
She shook her head slowly. “What if they’re not just a bunch of kids who don’t know what they’re doing, messing around with the occult?”
He blinked, clearly not having considered that.
“Magic is real, Ryan. Dark magic as well as light. And the people who know how to wield it have real power. If they don’t have a moral code along with that power—then they could be truly dangerous.”
He nodded. “I’m not even doubting you on that. Listen, that’s double the reason you and your mother need to be very careful from here on. Not just so you don’t get blamed for what’s going on, but so no one targets you for any reason.” He sighed. “I’ll watch your backs. You’ve got nothing to worry about as long as I’m here. I promise.”
Lena looked up at him, and she went all soft inside. “I believe you.”
He slid his arms around her, pulled her close, and slowly bent nearer, then nearer still. She felt his breath, featherlight on her lips, and let her eyes fall closed. “Ryan,” she whispered.
And he kissed her. Just like that, he kissed her, and all her warnings about taking it slow, about making sure, about not falling for him again, melted away like snow in the springtime sunlight. She opened her mouth to him, and he tasted her with his tongue. She was on fire, her fingers splaying in his hair, her mouth feeding from his, reveling in his hands on her back and tickling up and down her nape beneath her hair.
The quiet chirping of his cell phone shattered the spell, and their lips parted, clinging, reluctant to let go. Ryan rested his forehead against hers. “Sorry. I’ll shut it off.” He pulled the phone from his pocket, and she lowered her eyes, since he was holding it practically under her nose.
Even though the caller’s name was upside d
own, it was clear enough.
P. Reynolds Atty.
Atty? Attorney!
Something hammered in her chest, and she jerked backward, breaking contact. “Go ahead and take it. I...this was a mistake.” She fled upstairs, heading straight into the temple room. He called her name, but she just kept on going. She didn’t owe him any explanations. Bahru was right. He had been consulting a lawyer.
He just inherited several billion bucks, and a buttload of businesses, dummy. There are a thousand reasons why he might be talking to a lawyer.
Right, and Bahru’s warning—not to mention the one from her own house ghost—were what? Coincidence?
“There’s no such thing as coincidence,” she whispered.
She took a deep breath, knowing by her frantic squirming that she was upsetting the baby. Okay, time to calm down. This wasn’t good for either of them. She lit a few candles, enough to let her shut off the lights and still see what she was doing. And then she opened the big old cabinet that lined one wall and inhaled the scents that spilled from it. The familiar aromas she associated with witchcraft soothed her mind instantly. Sandalwood, sage, mint, roses, vanilla, her personal favorite, dragon’s blood, and more all mingled together in an almost visible cloud. They were a trigger for the ultra-calm state of mind known as alpha. The state in which magic could occur.
She reached up unerringly, plucking out a tiny bundle of white sage and sweet grasses, dried and twisted together with a few of their own strands. When she touched the ends to a candle’s flame, the dried herbs flared to life, snapping and sizzling. Flames leapt high and hot. She gave it a beat or two, then blew out the fire. Now the herbs wafted fragrant smoke in spirals and swirls.
Her mind grew calm and her body relaxed, nerves uncoiling. She carried the smoking herbs to the little table near the window, picking up the vulture feather that rested there. Illegal to possess, she knew, but the huge turkey vulture had dropped it for her, so she considered it a gift, one she could not refuse. Picking it up, she used the feather to wave the smoke around her body, bending to waft it over her feet and up her legs, moving the smoking bundle behind her and then in front again, lifting it higher, until she reached the top of her head.
When she felt perfectly cleansed of every negative vibe, she moved around the room, still wafting the smoke with the vulture feather, sending it into every corner, nook and cranny, and ending where she had begun. Then she tapped the bundle almost out in a little dish and let it lie there, a few ribbons of smoke still winding up from it.
With her hand held palm out, she projected energy. It wasn’t imaginary. It wasn’t visualization. It was genuine energy. She could almost see it beaming out of her palm, painting a path of white light as she cast a circle in the room.
Here, in this room, she never took the circle down, just reinforced it every time she needed to work magic. This room was sacred space, and nothing evil could get inside. Only goodness. Only love.
By the time she finished her preliminary steps, she was feeling very calm, very peaceful. She went to the cabinet again and took out the chalice Bahru had given to her. Since her first experiment with it had been almost frightening, she decided to cleanse it and bless it, which she did quickly and easily, as any seasoned witch could. It didn’t require a big elaborate rite. She wafted a little smoke from the still-smoldering sage bundle over the cup. Then she moved the cup through the candle’s flame. She drizzled it with holy water and sprinkled it with sea salt, and then she held her hand over it and beamed that same white light energy into it. And it was done.
“You serve the gods now, little cup, and likewise you serve me. Nothing evil, only love. Now show me what I need to see.”
After pouring a bit more holy water into the chalice, she sat down on the floor, her legs crossed, the cup in the crook of them, and gazed down into the water. Her breathing slowed and softened, until it was nearly impossible to tell where inhale ended and exhale began. It was all one flow, like the waves of the ocean. She felt the air swirling around her nostrils, rushing along her windpipe, filling her lungs, dancing out into the room again. Focusing on that allowed all other thoughts to cease. When they tried to return, she gently tugged her attention back to the breaths moving in and out, in and out. Her eyes relaxed, her vision going blurry.
Soon she felt herself sinking into that beautiful, blissful state of oneness with the All. Her body was no longer an individual being but rather a vantage point for spirit. A vehicle for spirit to ride in during its journey through the physical realm.
Clouds formed in the cup, swirled and parted.
“Show me what I need to see,” she whispered.
And then she was no longer in her temple room but in her bedroom, floating on the ceiling, looking down at her own body in the bed. She was sweat-damp and straining, and her knees were pointed ceilingward and parted, toes curling and digging into the mattress as she pushed.
Doc Cartwright was there. Nurse Eloise, too. And Mom, but she was in a chair in the corner, slumped to one side. Sleeping?
Dead?
Panic clutched at Lena’s heart, but she ignored it and fought to stay focused.
Ryan was there, Bahru right beside him. Thank God. She would be all right. And the house ghost—he was there, too, hovering in the corner like a thick, vaguely human-shaped pillar of black smoke. He was far denser than he’d ever appeared before, and much more real looking. Less like a shadow. More like a being.
Then she was both hovering by the ceiling and in her body in the bed, and she was in pain. The baby was coming. She felt her little girl’s head pressing through her into the world, felt as if she was being torn in two. And the ghost in the corner opened his eyes, like darkness parting to reveal fiery red orbs.
Suddenly she was afraid. She looked up, saw Ryan pulling that golden blade from its sheath and raising it above her, point down. His eyes were red, and he was wearing a crystal on a silver chain around his neck.
Three firm knocks on the door yanked her out of the vision. She dropped back into her body so abruptly that she felt the impact as if she had physically fallen to the floor.
She gave her head a shake and tried to catch a final glimpse of the vision in the cup, but there was only water. She’d lost it.
Sighing and fighting not to allow anger into her sacred space, she parted the energy curtain with a sweep of one arm before opening the door.
Ryan met her eyes. “Did I do something to make you angry?”
“I’m busy right now.”
His gaze darted past her, taking in the dancing candles, the smoke hanging in the air, then the chalice on the floor. “Wow, that’s...that’s something. That cup. Where did you...?”
“Your father left it to me.”
His brows went up. “He did?”
She nodded.
“Does it...do anything...you know...unusual?”
Lena blinked. How could he know that? “What an odd question. Why do you ask?”
“Humor me. I’m opening my mind about all this, and I have a good reason for asking. Trust me.”
Unfortunately, she didn’t trust him. Not enough. Yet she didn’t see any harm in being honest about the chalice. “It’s pretty amazing, actually. I use it for scrying.”
“But that’s nothing you haven’t done with other cups and mirrors and stuff, right?”
“True. I’ve done it all my life.”
“But with this cup, it’s different?”
“Yes, it is.” Lena frowned. “It’s more powerful. Even a little scary at times.”
“Yes. Scary,” he said softly, nodding. “So what do you do about that? When it’s scary, I mean.”
“Just keep working with it, same as I would with any new tool. The more you use it, the more it becomes like an extension of you. Like driving a car, you know?” Her irritation with hi
s interruption was quickly being pushed aside by her love of talking about her favorite subject and her genuine pleasure at his interest, which still seemed sincere. She leaned against the door frame. “Remember being sixteen and behind the wheel for the first time? How you felt completely out of control behind the wheel? Maybe you were even all over the road. But now you drive almost without thinking. It’s automatic. You’ve sort of melded with the car, like it’s an extension of your body. Magical tools are like that.”
“I’d never thought of it that way.”
“Of course, I cleansed it first.”
“Cleansed it?”
“Yeah. I mean, I do it with any new tool, but especially one that feels at all...scary. It’s a simple rite to get rid of any negative energy that might be clinging to... Why are you so interested in my chalice all of a sudden, Ryan?” She suddenly wondered if he was wearing a hidden recorder, trying to gather evidence of her nontraditional beliefs to use against her in a custody battle.
Stupid thought. He would never.
Oh, yes, he would. The guy he was back in New York would, anyway. The prince he’d been in a former life? Not in a million years. The guy he was trying to convince her he was now? Well, that remained to be seen.
He shrugged. “You’re the mother of my child. I think it’s important that I understand your...belief system.”
“The same belief system you once called ‘cute’?”
He nodded. “I’ve apologized for that. More than once, I think.”
She just stood there, waiting.
He finally sighed. “Look, I don’t know what happened downstairs, but...I don’t have a single regret except that we were interrupted. And I want—”
“I’m not ready, Ryan.” She shook her head, sighed, looked at her feet, then met his eyes again. “Okay, I suppose it’s obvious that I still have feelings for you. And the fire between us...that hasn’t gotten any smaller, either.”
“Bigger, I think.”
She wanted to bask in that reply. But she clenched her jaw and resisted. “Ryan, you know how I am about honesty, so I need to be honest with you now. The truth is, I don’t trust you. I don’t know what the hell you’re really doing here, or what you really want from me, and I’m just not ready to put my heart or my child into your hands. Not yet. I need to take this slow. Okay?”
Daughter of the Spellcaster Page 16
