She sighed. Right. She’d bring in a mess of police and lawyers, and the ghosts would behave. She’d look like an idiot. Moreover, if she moved anyway and paid the fine for breaking the lease, would she be able to afford a comparable place at a reasonable rate?
Even with her husband’s checks, she could barely make this rent. She was going to be stuck at Amityville Arms with John, Casper, and friends.
“Don’t look so downtrodden, you’re perfectly safe,” John consoled her. “Did Melissa leave my book here?”
“Hm? I don’t know. I could go look.” With that, Colleen took the steps gingerly, lest another quake happen. In seconds she was back on the couch, holding John’s book.
John scooted close to her. Colleen was instantly aware of his cologne and body heat. Her heart thrummed as his thumbs brushed against her hand and gently pried the book away. His brown hands caressed the raised gilt curlicues and fleur de lis designs on the cover, and Colleen wanted immediately for that touch to transfer to her bare skin.
“Don’t be afraid of what I’m about to show you,” he said in all seriousness.
Colleen scoffed. “It’s a book, what’s so scary about that? The only thing that scared me about books was the ugly look on Mrs. Treacher’s face when I was late turning in a book report in high school.”
John didn’t laugh with her. He bade her instead to hold tight to the crooked arm he extended toward her. “Don’t let go, whatever you do.”
Colleen stilled. John’s demeanor frightened her more than the memory the ghost attack, but his voice had such a commanding quality to it that she couldn’t help but obey. She looped an arm through his and grasped his hard bicep with the other hand for good measure.
“Trust me, it won’t hurt. It’ll just feel weird,” he said on a smile, and before Colleen could ask he opened the book to a random page, closed his eyes, and quickly cracked the spine backward.
The room went suddenly white. Her living room and all of her belongings vanished in a bright flash and thunderous cracking sound. Colleen felt as if somebody had plunged a hose down her throat and sought to suck the air out of her body. She tried to scream and felt helpless against the power of nothingness surrounding her. Through the brief ordeal, however, she still felt John’s presence near her, and that was her only comfort.
Their arms were still linked together as the world returned to focus, only her living room was still gone and they were standing now.
In a field. A wide, rolling green field, far from home.
Chapter Five
“What the hell just happened? Where are we?”
Colleen let go of John. She relaxed when he didn’t fade away, but coiled up again with fear as she took a few tentative steps to one side. Around them she saw nothing but waving, green grass, as far as the eye could see, save for the occasional larch in the distance. A stone cottage with a few puffs of black smoke rising from its chimney stood near the horizon. The sun beat down upon them, warming Colleen’s skin.
“Welcome,” John said, his arms spread, “to England.”
“England?” How did they get to England? All John had done was open a book! “You know, I have a ton of frequent flyer miles, and they don’t work this quickly.”
John laughed and clearly meant to say more, but a shrill horse’s whinny startled Colleen back to his side. A roan stallion bearing a uniformed gentleman had suddenly appeared, presumably from a dip in one of the rolling hills, and ground to a halt beside the duo.
He was strong and thick, and lifted his hat to reveal a gorgeous mane of light brown hair. “Mister Spence,” the rider greeted them, “how are you this afternoon?”
John bowed slightly. “We are both well, Colonel. Are you heading to the Dashwoods?”
“I’m expected there for tea, yes.” The rider eyed Colleen with a warmth that made her feel giddy. She wondered for a moment if the man found it unusual that she was wearing nothing but a robe cinched tightly around her body.
“Will you and your companion be joining us?”
“Another time, Colonel, but please give Mrs. Dashwood and her daughters our respects,” John said.
The rider tipped his hat in reply, tugged his horse’s reins, and soon galloped away from them. Colleen turned to John, her mouth gaping in disbelief.
“Colonel...Brenden?” she gasped. “From the book?”
“Brandon,” he corrected her.
“What-ever. How in the hell did we end up in Victorian England? What did you do to me? Have I been drugged?”
“Actually, this is Regency England,” John said. “You see, Jane Austen’s stories were considered contemporary for her time, and she—”
“I couldn’t care if Jane Austen lived on the Starship Enterprise and wrote that freaking da Vinci code story!” Colleen waved her arms in frustration, then pinched them closely to her when she sensed her robe about to open on its own. “How did we end up here?”
John held up the book with one hand, his fingers still splayed across the open pages. “I’ll tell you, but let’s get back. Take my arm again.”
Colleen hesitated, and John added, “You have to hold on, otherwise you’ll be left here.”
That was enough to convince her to oblige. She knew next to nothing about Regency England, and guessed she wouldn’t get very far on her own in nothing but a robe. She cuffed her hands around John’s arm, and John slammed the book shut with a force that set Colleen’s teeth on edge.
Yet, it wasn’t the slamming of the book that physically jarred her. That action only spurred their return trip. Another bright flash of white followed, and in seconds they were back in Colleen’s living room as if nothing had happened.
Colleen’s heart beat wildly against her ribcage. She let go of John and scooted to the recliner opposite him. “Tell me that just didn’t happen,” she begged. “Tell me you drugged my tea.”
“We had coffee, and I can assure you I put nothing in it to cause you to hallucinate.”
“What’s going on, John?”
John folded his hands on the closed book. “You have heard that I am originally from the Caribbean, St. Bart’s actually,” he began, and Colleen nodded. “What very few people know is that my grandmother is, was, a priestess.”
“Priestess? You mean, like voodoo?” Colleen felt sick. This man had been around her daughter, unsupervised! How much voodoo knowledge did he possess? Could he really have been behind the house quaking, and the voice?
“Not quite. My grandmother’s faith was a bit unorthodox, yes, but she was not an evil woman. She was very wise, a healer. People sought her help for all sorts of things. She was a very gifted woman.” John smiled, as if remembering.
“A gifted woman who could turn you into a toad if she wanted,” Colleen challenged, and was shocked to see John nod sagely at that remark.
“She had the knowledge, but not the motive. I told you, she was a good woman. She just believed different things.”
“Do you believe those things?”
“I do, but I don’t practice. There’s no need to worry about me doing anything bad.” John held up the book. “For all my grandmother’s power, we were not rich. She could easily have cast spells to make us wealthy, but she was an honest woman. She never abused her gifts. The one thing she did want for me, however, was not to live in poverty for the rest of my life. She wanted me and my brother to be learned men, to go to school and make something of ourselves.” He looked away sadly. “But I was a lazy student, and constantly irritating her. She was desperate to get us off the island, and maybe come to America, so she came up with a plan.”
“The books?”
John traced the gilded title on the cover. “Grandmother obtained a number of classic novels from a banker she had cured of a wicked curse, and put a spell on each book. She figured that if reading bored me, I might find more enjoyment if the stories were more, ah...interactive.” He smiled. “While other children grew up reading books like Peter Pan and Tom Sawyer, my brother and I were actua
lly there, just like you and I were in Sense and Sensibility.”
“Wow.” This was too incredible to comprehend. Colleen had fantasized more than once about being in a favorite movie, maybe “interacting” in more ways than one with a handsome actor, but for it to actually be possible...and everything had seemed so real when they were in England. The sun’s rays, the wind rustling the grass, even the heated snort from the horse’s nostrils as it reared to a stop. It was more vivid than any dream.
Her mouth went dry, and quiet anger flushed her cheeks. “Melissa,” she said coldly. “You took my daughter into that book, didn’t you?”
John bowed his head. “I apologize, yes. It was an error in judgment, and I should have discussed it with you first, but how could I begin to explain it? I didn’t think—”
“I’ll say you didn’t. A grown man, and a college professor.” Colleen leaped from the chair and paced the room. “I can’t believe you’d do something like that. What if she got hurt?”
“There’s no risk being inside the book, there is a failsafe,” John said. “At any sign of danger, which has been rare in my experience, you close the book and come home.”
“Fair enough, but you gave my daughter the book so she could explore this territory unsupervised?”
“No, I would never do that.” John’s countenance took on a look of hurt that momentarily startled Colleen. “Each book has a failsafe, as I’ve said. My grandmother cast a password on each book that one must either think or recite for the spell to work. Melissa doesn’t know the word to trigger this book.”
Colleen could only shake her head. She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation. Only an hour ago she and Daryl were upstairs making love. Well, she was making love to Daryl, who knew what Daryl was doing or what was going through his mind. Magical transportation and exotic priestesses were hardly food for thought.
“This doesn’t explain,” Colleen said, “the tremors I felt shaking my bedroom—and I know they were real—and the man’s voice I heard.”
“Yes.” John sighed. “When my grandmother died, my brother and I inherited her estate, including an entire library of enchanted books like this one. Almost all of them are classics, as I mentioned, but there was one...”
Colleen thought she saw a touch of red flush his brown skin.
“There was one,” he echoed, “that we believed she had enchanted for her, ah, personal use.”
“Really? What kind of book?”
“An adult book.” John’s look penetrated her. No further explanation was needed, and Colleen felt suddenly embarrassed to have asked. Oh, well, she thought. She supposed voodoo priestesses needed some action as well.
“And...are you saying the, ah, characters, in this particular book caused all the commotion?”
“It is possible, I can’t say for certain,” John said, and crossed a leg over his other knee. Colleen watched as his jeans tightened in all the right places. “My grandmother made good use of that particular book when she was alive, and I noticed right from the start how that particular book wasn’t like the others. Sometimes it would move on its own volition; it would shake and rattle until it fell off my shelf.” He chuckled. “My brother and I could only guess that so much of my grandmother’s magic is ingrained in that book, that it causes such things to happen.”
“Interesting.” In a conversation where nothing made sense, those last words did. Perhaps John’s grandmother’s powers left a residual effect on the book, so much that the book’s characters could sense the growing tension in her bedroom.
“It’s possible,” John said when Colleen put forth her theory. “I have another idea, which I won’t get into now. It’s getting late.” He looked at his watch and rose. “I’m very sorry your night didn’t go as planned.”
Colleen snorted.
“I’m sorry,” John repeated with a sad smile, and clutched the book to his chest. “I should probably take this with me as well. I don’t want Melissa to get into any more trouble—”
“No,” Colleen sighed. “Knowing Melissa, she probably talked you into it. She’s become quite the manipulator. Just ask her dad.” She laughed shortly, but smiled to reassure John as she stood to see him to the door.
“I’ll be fine,” she said before John could speak, as his parting glance to her indicated worry. Five minutes with my vibrator and I’ll be better.
* * * *
It took twenty minutes, but the round with her rotating shaft rabbit vibrator yielded such an intense orgasm that Colleen passed out immediately into blissful sleep. She awoke the next morning around ten to the shrill peal of her phone.
Melissa! She was supposed to pick up her daughter at her friend’s house two hours ago. She answered, intending to immediately apologize, but Melissa got in the first words, rapidly begging for an extended stay.
“Monica’s mom said she’d take us to the movies and for pizza, and I can stay another night, but I’d have to ask you,” the girl said, and followed her words with a string of pleas. Weary from last night’s revelations, Colleen relented and allowed Melissa to stay an extra night. Her friend would provide clothes for Melissa to borrow, her daughter had said.
Better to have the time apart so she could digest everything that had happened, Colleen decided. She didn’t want Melissa to start asking questions in the wake of the odd behavior she was certain to exhibit today.
She hoped a shower would improve her mood, but now she felt unnerved and wet. Wrapping herself in her terrycloth robe, Colleen shook the excess water from her locks and padded back into her bedroom to change.
She plucked a thong from her dresser, and fixed her gaze on the doorjamb visible above the dresser. She hadn’t noticed it before, but the crack between the door and the jamb seemed rather deep. She could detect a sliver of light coming from the other side.
Her gaze then fell down to the knob, which was partly concealed by the dresser. She noticed there was no deadbolt on the door. When she had moved in, she had taken it for granted that the door had been sealed, and for some reason never bothered to test it. She just moved the dresser in front of it and went on with her life.
Given John Spence’s latest revelations, though, made her curious.
Without thinking, she tossed the thong back into the dresser and shut the drawer, then grasped the corner of the dresser and pushed it farther into the room, creating enough space for the door, as the hinges indicated it was meant to swing inward.
She tried the knob, and gasped as it gave so easily.
She opened the door to John Spence’s library.
Holy shit. All this time the door was not sealed. John must have forgotten about it. She could have gone into his side of the house at any time and stolen things.
A lump formed in her throat. He could have used the door, too, had she not blocked it.
Cautiously she stepped inside the dimly lit room. The layout was almost similar to her bedroom, except there was no adjoining bath. Gauzy green curtains were drawn, creating an eerie glow as the morning sunlight filtered into the room. Along the opposite wall was a large bookcase that covered every inch of white space. Books of identical binding, all spines outward, were shelved tightly. There was no other furniture in the room.
The door leading into the rest of John’s home was closed, and she paused to listen. He was probably downstairs, having breakfast, or else gone for the day.
Her attention returned quickly to the bookshelf. There must have been a few hundred books, of varying thicknesses, ready to read. To read and explore, Colleen realized, as these were no doubt the same books enchanted by John’s magical grandmother. True to his word, they were mainly classic works. Colleen eyed the gilded titles on the spines. To think that John and his brother had lived the same adventures as Huckleberry Finn and Victor Frankenstein, Oliver Twist and Tess of the D’Urbervilles, and...
She was reaching for a book when a noise at the far end of the shelf distracted her. High on the corner, a book rattled and worked it
s way out of the vertical stack on its own, teetering on the shelf until it lost balance and fell to the hardwood floor with a resounding whack. Colleen’s heart stilled, and she waited for the sound of approaching footsteps.
When John didn’t come to investigate the noise, she carefully bent to retrieve the book. It was one unfamiliar to her, one without an author’s name. Midnight Passions read the title in gold cursive, and instead of the usual fleur de lis design of the other covers, this one was decorated with the gilded silhouette of two lovers intertwined.
This had to be the book John mentioned earlier, the one that his grandmother...used. The voices and tremor she had experienced had to be connected to this book. Colleen couldn’t believe it; it was a slim volume and looked no more harmful than any of the other books on the shelf.
She flipped through the pages; it looked just like any other book. For her cursory glance, it appeared to be some kind of bodice ripper, a story of forbidden love set in another time. Her eyes occasionally caught words appropriate for the genre—throbbing, panting, smoldering, thrusting—and she stifled a laugh as the pages slid past her fingers. She had to wonder exactly how much throbbing and panting went on in this story, and how much the old priestess got to experience for herself.
Colleen didn’t blame the woman. How could she? She knew nothing of John’s grandmother, and had John not taken her into a book she would have thought John insane for telling her about his eccentric guardian. If the woman wanted to cavort in a hot romance book, bully for her. If every woman could do it, reading might be in vogue.
Colleen held the book in both hands, now reading a passage at random and giggling at the archaic description of a passionate love scene. “Hoo boy,” she whispered. Not exactly Pulitzer material, but no doubt it got the job done.
“Yes,” she sighed aloud, bending the book in her hands, “who couldn’t get by without a little passion?”
Colleen bent back the spine without thinking…
…and the room went white. Colleen felt as if her body were being compressed by a sudden increase in gravity and tried to scream, but sound failed her. As soon as the sensation came, though, it was over, and color returned.
Midnight Passions Page 4
