He could feel again. And it hurt. It hurt like a thousand bee stings.
He knelt beside Destiny, put an arm around her to console them both, and he mourned like he had as a boy—the first time in nearly twenty years.
He missed his twin. Yet his heart also recognized that this woman beside him moved him—Morgan the man—in ways he couldn’t rationalize.
“One of us is crazy,” he said, taking out his handkerchief to dry her eyes.
“No, both of us are psychic, but I’m not looking for an argument, so don’t answer.” She crossed his lips with a finger. He covered it with his own. And when their gazes met, something else shifted in him, something monumental but as basic as the need to breathe, the need to be with this woman for a scary long time. Maybe, for the rest of his days.
The knowledge came softly, like getting hit upside the head with . . . Meggie’s stuffed dog? He looked to see if his sister was there and thought he saw a shadow run behind the headstone. An old familiar giggle floated on the wind. He doubted hearing it, and yet, there was no mistaking that giggle, that joy.
A butterfly landed in Destiny’s hair.
She saw it from the corner of her eye. “In the Celtic tradition,” she said, “the butterfly signifies transformation and rebirth, a spiritual and physical recycling. Butterflies leave their chrysalis and remind us that after pain, life is beautiful. I’ll bet Meggie’s angel is using the butterflies to help you understand.”
“Meggie and I shared a guardian angel, or so Megs said.”
“I know. She told me. She thinks you stopped talking to Buffy when she passed.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I did.”
“Celtic women used butterflies to adorn gowns, blankets, and cradle sheets for expected babies. Did Meggie chase butterflies?”
“Incessantly, giggling the whole time.”
“Or did the butterflies chase her?”
Morgan thought about that. “You know, thinking back, it would be difficult to say.”
Destiny indicated the pink granite angel. “See the way Buffy is making a grotto of wings to protect Meggie? That’s how the two of them often appear to me, except that Meggie’s hair is in braids. She’s wearing the red plaid school uniform, and clutching a curly haired stuffed dog.”
“You’re kidding? She has the dog?” Morgan looked around again and resisted an urge to call his sister. Had she hit him with her stuffed dog just now? Like the old days? Nah.
“The angel’s gown is blue,” Destiny said, standing. “Blue here, and red there, with a gold sash, and her wings are a bright, glittery white. Now that may be my perception of an angel, but that’s what I see. Buffy’s face is different from this angel’s, though. Buffy doesn’t smile, but she looks at Meggie with a great deal of love. Meggie didn’t catch that in her drawing so it’s not on your tattoo, either, but I don’t think that kind of love can be captured on canvas.”
That kind of love. Buffy. Meggie. All the right words.
As if this beautiful, loving Destiny was his.
Chapter Thirty-two
HIS destiny? Morgan thought his head might explode. He searched for the meaning in his life, but found none, until Destiny took his arm.
“Let’s go,” she said. “I want to stop at a nursery to buy some plants. Meggie wants a healing garden for you, and I also want it to be a memory garden for her.”
Morgan went along with plans so ludicrous, they made a strange sort of sense, because he didn’t want to be left in Oz without Destiny. Down the road at the nursery, she pulled a list from her purse. “I want Frikart’s asters, joe-pye weed, plumbago, sneezeweed, snakeroot, tickseed, turtle-head, and tree mallow.”
Morgan’s heart about stopped.
“Yep, you guessed it,” Destiny said. “Meggie chose the plants, and I made the list.”
“I recognized her sense of humor right away. It’s a lot like yours, actually.”
The clerk filling her order kept shaking his head.
Hands on hips, Destiny circled the guy, who should be very afraid. “What’s wrong?” she asked him.
The clerk wiped his hands on his gray apron, as if his palms were sweaty, then he looked around and lowered his voice. “Most of these plants won’t come up next year because you’re planting them so late, but I could get fired for telling you so.”
Destiny leaned close. “I won’t give you away. I don’t care. I need to plant them. I also want that garden statue of the angel.”
Morgan smiled as she linked arms with him. “For Meggie,” Destiny said.
He fought the urge to kiss her in public. Destiny spelled trouble with a capital T.
“Look, Morgan, a lighthouse,” she said. “We’ll take that, too,” she told the clerk.
Morgan chose an engraved stone and put it on the counter with the rest of their purchases. “A garden stone that says Destiny,” he added. “Meggie needs that, too.”
Later than they expected, it took two water taxis to get the two of them, Destiny’s luggage, and their plants and statues back to the island.
“I wonder if the ladybugs are gone,” Morgan said picking up as many suitcases from the dock as he could carry. “I hope they didn’t migrate upstairs. I planned to take the tattoo tour tonight. I’ve had glimpses, but I’m talking spotlight on talent, here.”
Destiny shivered. “I don’t have the only tattoos in the neighborhood.”
He shook his head. “You first saw mine when you were spying on me in the shower, didn’t you?”
“Never mind that. How does a priest get tattooed?”
“He goes sailing to the islands with his crazy friends, where they all get hammered and tattooed.”
“Aiden and King?”
“I can’t believe your sisters haven’t shared, though we vowed on penalty of death not to rat each other out. They must have sworn their wives to secrecy.”
“Screw that,” Destiny said, leaving her newest portfolio outside the kitchen door and going back for the plants. “Their wives are my sisters. I should know what Harmony and Storm know.”
“I don’t think the sister thing counts after you’re married. Besides, each might only know about her own husband. I think husbands trump sisters.”
“Figures. I’m such a late bloomer. The middle child but the only one with no psychic mandate or prospects.”
Morgan dropped one of her suitcases. “You mean marital prospects?”
“Get real, and be careful with my things. I don’t want a man gumming up my life. I’m only toying with you.”
He sighed inwardly with relief and slapped her on the ass on his way back to the dock a while later for the statues. “You weren’t talking like that in the shower this morning.”
“We weren’t talking at all in the shower this morning. Screw you, Morgan.”
He stopped and raised his hands. “That’s all I’m saying.”
As he opened the kitchen door, a racket greeted them, cupboard doors opening and slamming, plates flying from the cabinets, hitting the floor and each other.
“Meggie,” Destiny said, “What’s wrong with you?”
Everything calmed. Cupboard doors stopped, some open, some closed. Plates lay in pieces on the floor.
“Why are you crying?” Destiny asked, but nobody was there.
Morgan hurt as if Meggie did—an old familiar ache. “Well?” he snapped, in over his head, and going down for the count. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s upset. She couldn’t find us last night, and she’s angry that we went away today.”
Good thing Destiny cast the spell so Meggie couldn’t find them last night. “But she was at the cemetery today. She knew where we were.” Morgan heard himself and shut his mouth for half a beat. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”
“Yes. Congratulations.” Destiny started picking up plate shards. “That’s why she knows we went to see your parents today.”
Morgan rubbed the back of his neck. “Meggie always did have a temper, but if
she knows where we were, she knows how lucky she is that she wasn’t there.”
“Ah, you made her smile.”
“That’s something—no!” he snapped. “It’s not, because Meggie isn’t here!”
Chapter Thirty-three
SADDENED by his response, tired of arguing, Destiny almost folded. But some things were worth fighting for. “Your sister is here, slam it.”
More than anything, Destiny wanted Morgan to open up about his past, to believe in Meggie’s spirit. Half the time, he seemed to believe that Meggie could exist on the spiritual plane, and the other half, he argued against it and his own instincts. An understandable reaction, but frustrating, nonetheless.
“Destiny,” Meggie said. “Tell Morgan to go into the parlor and wait for you. I want to show you something.”
Destiny translated his sister’s wishes to Morgan.
“Fine,” he said, shaking his head, as if one of them needed a shrink.
“Try to show some enthusiasm,” Destiny whispered. “She can see you.”
“Try to show some sanity,” Morgan snapped. “I can’t see her.”
Meggie shrugged and led the way to the captain’s chest in the closet beneath the stairs.
Destiny stopped short of picking it up. “I know about this chest, Meggie.”
“Morgan needs to look inside at the things he put in there,” Meggie said. “It’s time.”
“Ah.” Destiny dragged the heavy chest into the parlor.
Morgan jumped up to help her. “Destiny, what are you doing with this? Put it back.”
“No. Meggie wants you to look through it. Now. With me here. She said it’s time.”
“I could almost believe it’s her, she’s such a pest.”
Meggie gave a thumbs-up.
Morgan carried the chest to the center of the Persian rug and knelt beside it.
“Go ahead,” Destiny said, reaching for the latch. “Open, open, open.”
Morgan sat on his heels. “I know what’s inside.”
“Meggie says you have to look and remember.”
“Can’t I do it alone?”
“No. She’s shaking her head no. You have to share your memories with both of us.”
“Both?”
“Me and Meggie.”
“Of course. Anybody ever tell you that you’re as bossy as my mother?”
“Whoa. Anybody ever tell you that witches are rumored to be capable of turning princes into toads?”
“You think I’m a prince?”
“I think you’re a pain in the—”
“Buttkuss,” Meggie said. “Tell him.”
“Meggie says you’re a pain in the buttkuss.”
He looked around. “Buttkuss? I’m starting to believe you might be psychic, Kismet.”
“Good one.” Destiny wrinkled her nose at him. “Show me what’s in there.”
He opened the chest, lost the twinkle in his eyes, and took out a ratty old rag doll, scorched around the edges. “This is Samantha. Meggie loved this doll. The authorities found it in the tower. My mother threw it away, but I fished it out of the trash. I—” He shook his head as if he couldn’t go on.
Destiny touched his hand. “It’s okay.”
“I took Samantha with me to the seminary. A doll. Imagine. No wonder I kept it under lock and key. I’d take it out when I missed Meggie. Eventually, I left it here. Meggie told me to take care of Samantha, if she couldn’t. She said there’d be a fire, and Samantha would be in danger.”
Destiny’s head came up with her radar. “Wait. Meggie was psychic?”
“She made my parents—well, mostly my mother—furious when she predicted the future.”
“Didn’t they understand when the things she predicted happened?”
“No, that just made them madder.” Morgan held the doll up to his face. “She doesn’t smell like Meggie anymore.” He set it on his lap, took out a metal flute and played it. “She warned me to be careful with this, that her throat hurt when she looked at it. She was right.”
“What happened?”
“I was playing it on my way into the house, and the flute got to the door before I did. It cut my throat up. Lots of blood. Fast ride to the emergency room.”
Destiny knuckled his throat; she needed that badly to touch him right then. “Why did you keep the flute?”
“To remind me that Meggie was right, and I was wrong.” Morgan shook his head with regret. “So very wrong.” He looked up. “Meggie talked and laughed all the time. Mother spent half of Meggie’s life shushing her. Meggie would have reacted the way you did today. She would have laughed at my mother’s nonsense. Mother said that Meggie’s predictions were insane, and she meant that literally.”
Destiny gasped at the cruelty, and she felt hurt radiating from Meggie even now.
Morgan looked around. “You weren’t insane, Meggie,” he called. “See?” he said to Destiny. “Now I feel a little insane. Why would she be here, anyway? Why not at my parents’? Never mind. Dumb question. Who’d go there if they didn’t have to?”
“Meggie attached herself to you, Morgan, and when you started coming here, she stayed, knowing you’d return.”
“But why? Why didn’t she just move on? Aren’t ghosts supposed to do that?”
“Not if they have unfinished business.”
“What’s Meggie’s?”
“You, apparently.”
“This is crap. I’ve had enough.” Morgan shut the chest.
Destiny opened it on command. “She says you have to remember.”
“Look, Kismet. Part of me wants to believe you, but—”
“You’re frustrated and falling into your old habits of disbelief. It doesn’t help that you went home today.”
“Are you implying that I let my mother influence me?”
“She’s a powerful woman who influenced your entire life. Old habits, as they say. I dare you to take out your electronic debunking equipment to prove there are spirits here. Meggie says you never turn down a dare.”
“The brat,” he muttered, as he went upstairs. “No, scratch that,” he said, stopping in the middle of the stairway, recognizing his turn toward belief. “Tomorrow I’ll take out my debunking equipment and put this ghost talk to rest.”
“Tonight,” Destiny said, ready to do cartwheels, she was so close to proving to him that ghosts, psychics, and magick did, indeed, exist. Close, but no cigar. Yet.
She passed him on the stairs and turned to look him in the eye. “You believe, but you don’t. I understand. It takes time to go against a lifetime of disbelief.”
“Tomorrow, I’ll prove I’m an idiot for this belief creeping into my good sense, without my permission. Tonight, I plan to practice my new skills.”
She took his hand to lead him the rest of the way up the stairs.
“I want more lessons,” he said. “I want to see what you have in your toy box—great pun, eh?”
“Shh. Meggie can hear you.”
“Shh,” he whispered. “I want to bury my memories in your—”
Destiny stopped, and he walked into her. “You have memories?” she asked.
“None that I want to keep or acknowledge. Subject closed.”
Chapter Thirty-four
SUBJECT closed, until she opened it again, but Destiny knew how to bide her time and choose it wisely. “I want to see your angel tattoo,” she said as they got to the bedroom. “Is it Buffy?”
“It’s Meggie’s drawing of Buffy. I’ve kept it for years.” He emptied his pockets and took the folded paper from his wallet to show her. “The tattoo artist used it as a model.”
“Good thing you didn’t put it on your butt.”
“Sacrilege.”
“Even I know that.” She took the drawing. “Wow, Meggie is a good little artist. It’s Buffy to a T. See the colors? I told you, red and blue gown, and a gold sash.”
“Yeah, yeah, Sassy Ass. Let’s play with the toys.”
“Shh. Not yet. Let me lul
l Meggie in a way that won’t hurt her like we did last night.”
Morgan’s stricken expression said he believed more than he wanted to. “I’d never knowingly hurt her.”
“She’s aware of that. But she died an innocent, and she’ll always be one. While you are anything but.”
“About time.” He sat at the foot of the bed. “Go ahead and protect Meggie, nutcase that I am for saying so.”
Destiny went to the top of the stairs where she could see Meggie, protected in her angel-wing cocoon.
“Meggie, sweet, float in sleep.
A sphere of light so white,
Soft with wings, angel bright
To protect you from sight.
“Private here, private now.
To keep your innocence, I vow.
Come the dawn you will be
On the camera; he will see.
“Happy our forever child.
Your fate to ever run wild.
My will for you be done.
And it harm you none.”
When she got back to the bedroom, Morgan caught her around the waist with a growl. “Low blow on the camera thing.”
“I speak only truth in prayer.”
He grabbed her by the buns and pulled her up to his knees at the edge of the bed. “You speak a different language.”
“Different from you.” She began to unbutton his shirt. “Your mother thinks that you and she speak the same language. Is that true?”
“Ouch! Another low blow. Your wit is as sharp as your wand tonight. Want to see mine?”
“With whom would you rather align yourself? Your sweet-spirited sister or your narrow-minded, mean-spirited mother?”
He kissed her. “You know the answer to that, but you’ll look like a fool tomorrow, if I take out my debunking equipment.”
“I beg to differ, and you will take it out. I’ll dare you again and again until you do.” She straddled him.
“If Meggie is goading you, she’s still a brat. What else did she tell you about me?”
“Meggie is at rest for tonight. You and I are wasting time.”
“You had to mention my mother. I’m not turned on anymore.”
Never Been Witched Page 16
