by Cate Masters
Her serene patience seemed to frustrate him further.
“Am I losing my mind?” Desperation edged his voice.
“No, dear,” Gram said. “Something much more important.”
His lips curled, but he didn’t work up a smile. “Don’t say my soul.”
Sternly, Gram arched her brow. “We can’t help you if you don’t want it.”
“I do, but…” He met each of their gazes in turn, then expelled a sharp breath.
“What does your heart tell you?” Lydia prompted.
His brows furrowed. “My heart?”
“Yes,” Joss managed.
His uncertain glance sent a flush of warmth through Joss. Did she have a place in his heart? She hadn’t meant to. His whirlwind emotions overwhelmed her, as John’s used to, shifting swiftly from bliss to rage. If she’d left any mark within him, he’d captured it forcefully, absorbed it fully.
Finally, he said, “I don’t know.”
Patting his hand, Gram smiled. “Many of us need time to understand our heart’s desires. Unfortunately, you don’t have such a luxury. If you’d like us to help you, you must ask.”
Skeptical as ever, he asked, “Help how?”
It didn’t deter Gram. “It’s an arduous process. Trust is imperative.”
“As is an open mind,” Lydia said.
“Quite literally,” Gram added.
He slumped and held a hand to his temple. “I don’t have much of a mind left.”
An urge came over Joss to rub his shoulders, rest her cheek to his, tell him he’d be fine. She held back when Gram held up a hand in signal for her to wait. He must ask of his own accord, without further coercion.
When he opened his eyes again, he met Gram’s steady gaze.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to get my life back.”
Gram arched her brow in prompting question. His statement fell short of what they needed to begin.
Apparently realizing his mistake, he slowly asked, “Will you help me? Please?”
“Of course.” Gram gathered some items.
“It’s why we’re here,” Lydia reminded him.
Creases of worry in his face erased. When he turned to Joss with tenderness in his eyes, she again yearned to enfold him in her embrace. Now was not the time. They had work to do.
Joss hoped she was up to the task ahead. “I’ll get the candles. Where are we going?”
Already headed there, Gram said, “The dining room.”
Joss inclined her head, inviting Eric to follow. He wasn’t going to like it.
* * * *
His muscles shook when he stood, and Eric steadied himself before following them to the dining room. The dining room? Were they going to feed him scones to go with the tea? Some sort of Mad Hatter tea party? Nothing surprised him anymore.
So he thought. By the time he reached the doorway, candles lit every table. The three women waited beside an empty table.
Gram gestured. “Lay down.”
A trembling laugh escaped. He withheld an argument. Right about now, he wouldn’t mind lying down, even atop a hard wooden table. Zombie-like, he shuffled ahead and eased himself down. Mostly, he was relieved to turn over control of the bizarre situation to these women who moved with the surety of those who were highly skilled and practiced often.
How the women attained such experience, he couldn’t muster the strength to ask. Something told him he wouldn’t want to know.
The grandmother stood at his head, the aunt on his right. At his left stood Joss—beside his heart. When she reached over to take Lydia’s hand, something swept across him, and his heart lifted, strained against his ribs, hungry for her touch.
After the three joined hands, the grandmother leaned over him, her upside down head hovering above his. “You must follow us without question.”
“Didn’t you want me here, on the table?”
“We don’t mean physically,” Lydia said. “Open your mind, let it float where it will.”
“So long as it floats with us,” the elder woman said.
His mind?
“Yes,” the grandmother’s voice said within his head.
Startled, he glanced up at the woman, then at Joss. All around them, flickering lights bobbed and shimmered. The soft glow of candlelight lent a haze to her beauty. “I’ll try.”
The grandmother sounded far away. “Don’t try. Do. Relax.”
Relax, he told himself, and closed his eyes. The three women chanted in low tones, words he couldn’t comprehend. Soothing and entrancing. Joss’s voice rose clear above the rest. He wanted to reach for her, hold her close. She laid her hand on his chest atop The Mark. Her warmth, different than the burn of Sheree’s brand, seeped down and enfolded it. Barbs pierced upward, making invisible slashes in his skin. Stabbing Joss, too, but after each jab, she steadied herself and chanted louder. Healing waves of energy wore away the sharp points, smoothing the knifelike edges down to mere nubs. Rendering them powerless.
And robbing her of her very life source. Trapped in his head, his struggles against the mummy-like wrapping of their power proved useless. All he could do was direct every beat of his heart to strengthen her, will his lifeblood to reinvigorate her.
Within another room inside his brain, noises erupted, a cacophony of screeches, moans, pleading. The faint image of Sheree beckoned from afar, sorrowful and pathetic. “I need you,” she whined, reaching for him.
“Be gone,” the grandmother commanded, and Sheree hissed.
Joss repeated the order again and again, more loudly each time until her voice grew raspy.
A grinding moan filled his ears and rattled his bones. He convulsed upward, the imprint bubbling in his blood. Boiling it. Melting his flesh. The anguish erupted in a strangled cry.
Sheree faded to a mere point, then blended into the void.
Sweating, he shuddered. He floated, drifting in nothingness. He should be alarmed, but it was wonderful. Their three glowing figures surrounded him, hands joined, and another layer of light glimmered around them, iridescent bubbles floating soundlessly. Cocooned in their glow, airiness filled his every pore, illuminating most. Some spots remained dark and heavy, his spirit mottled as a leper’s flesh.
The grandmother said, “You came to us just in time.”
She was right. He couldn’t have held on much longer. Here, he had no cares, though myriad questions swarmed through his head. Answers would have to wait. The women somehow shielded him from danger. Their chants grew in fervor, dissipating the darkened areas. Some stubbornly clung, tearing at his cells, burrowing to hide beneath his DNA structure.
At the grandmother’s gesturing, the glowing image of Joss approached him. Or his spirit. Whatever people called their disembodied selves. It didn’t matter. The closer she drew, the stronger her presence pressed against him, as if they were truly together in the flesh. When she encircled her arms around him, echoes of the trio of voices reverberated deeper, sending even the most belligerent black points scurrying away, their screams fading to nothingness. The process cleansed him, yet stripped him of his last vestige of strength.
Transformed from dark to light, his spirit like a wisp of smoke, able to rise indefinitely except for the ring of force keeping him in place. The women. Their voices now whispers, lulling and cradling him during their descent. The world around him solidified with clarity. When he again opened his eyes, the aunt and grandmother rocked gently, eyes closed. Joss swayed too, watching him.
“It’s over.” He didn’t need to ask. He knew. Except for the tiniest scar, none of the imprint remained. “I’m free.”
Sadness washed through Joss’s face. She swept it away with a smile. “Yes. You’re free.”
“For now,” Gram added. “You still bear the scar of The Mark, making you vulnerable when they return. Rest now. When you awake, it will only seem a dream.”
More like a nightmare. Too exhausted to express his gratitude in
words, he smiled and let sleep overtake him.
Chapter 14
The ritual left Joss invigorated rather than weakened. When she’d embraced Eric’s disembodied self, she’d also accepted her true spirit. Doing so rewarded her with empowerment. It completed her, healed her disparate selves into one. She’d never again deny that part of herself. Whether she would actively use such power, she couldn’t say. Probably not before better understanding it. Certainly not as entertainment, like Aunt Lydia. Possibly to enhance certain aspects of running the inn—some herbs and flowers, such as lavender, positively affected those who ingested them. Definitely if another situation arose where she could use it to protect another.
Especially Eric. He’d been a pawn in this game, but why?
Gram knew, Joss was sure of it.
Her grandmother averted her gaze. “He needs to recover.”
Joss moved to one side. “Let’s put him in my bed.”
Lydia supported his other side. “Lucky you.”
She wouldn’t fall prey to her aunt’s lascivious humor. She’d sleep in Kyle’s room, if she could sleep at all. Energy coursed through her veins, filling her with bliss. Physically, she and her aunt shouldn’t have had the strength to lift Eric’s full weight. Somehow, they carried him with ease.
After lowering him to the bed, Joss lifted his legs and untied his shoes. “Will he be safe?”
“Here, yes. Tonight, he must rest to regain his strength.” Gram crept to the hallway.
Joss left the door ajar to listen for him and followed Gram to the kitchen. “And tomorrow?” Some part of her hoped Gram would say he’d have to stay longer.
“We will enlist their aid in protecting him.” Her grandmother took the steaming cup Lydia offered.
Joss also accepted the mug her aunt held, and her embrace. Lydia kissed her forehead. “Good work, sweetie.”
Gram gazed outside, where illuminated orbs floated around the pane. “Yes, I’m proud of you, Jocelyn. You were wonderful tonight.”
Past tense, unfortunately. Guilt now plagued Joss. “I’m not proud. This is my fault, isn’t it? None of this would have happened if I hadn’t moved here.”
“No one can blame you, dear,” Gram said. “I’ll venture the people here would have succumbed to their false promises.”
Lydia sipped her drink. “Your positive influence disturbed their roots. They’re trying to frighten you away.”
“By threatening Eric.” In a strange way, it was perfectly logical. “Won’t I make things worse for him?”
“Absolutely not. Your presence will only enhance the protective effect.”
“The lavender.” Joss remembered the lights above Gram’s field when she was a girl.
Gram smiled. “They do love it, you know.”
Pointing a glossy nail at Joss, Lydia added, “So will your customers.”
Delight filled Gram’s face. “Mm, lavender sugar is lovely on cakes.”
“Lavender lemonade’s so refreshing in summer.” Lydia sipped her drink.
“Yes, I’d already planned to use the recipe and many more. Are you sure no one else will be hurt?”
“We can never be sure of anything, only try our best. And we will.” After sipping the last of her tea, Gram stretched. “I’m ready for bed.”
“Me too.” Lydia carried her glass to the sink.
“I’ll get those. You two go get settled, relax. It’s been quite a day.”
Gram beamed. “Exhilarating.”
“Mm, yes. The chamomile did the trick too. I’m ready for a nice comfy pillow.” Lydia kissed Joss’s cheek. “Good night, sweets. Take care of our darling.”
“And get some rest,” Gram added with a kiss.
“Sleep well.” Joss wondered whether she could with Eric in her bed. After washing the mugs, she went to the bedroom. With one hand rested on his stomach, his other arm raised above his head, he slept peacefully.
She eased beside him, the only chance she’d have to observe him at close range in such repose. Even at rest, his life force affected her with a startling impact. The very air came alive with vibrancy. She laid there a long time, studying him. The grandfather clock struck two, and she checked the bedside clock. Two. The right time.
Her last thought before drifting to sleep.
* * * *
Unfamiliar warmth disrupted his slumber. A body curled against his side. Comfortable, but strange. So wonderful, Eric didn’t want to open his eyes. Curiosity got the better of him. He slitted one eye open.
Joss.
His eyes popped wide. Definitely Joss, her honey-gold hair glinting in the morning sunlight. He wasn’t dreaming. He eased his head up to peer over his shoulder, then rested his head back against the pillow, trying to recall how the hell he came to be here.
Last night, his head spun, some sort of fever battered him. He’d almost gone to Sheree. Instead, he came here, to Joss. And her crazy aunt and grandmother. Somehow, not so crazy. Whatever they’d done had healed him.
Images flashed through his mind of Joss, displaying graceful ferocity and ethereal beauty. Disconnected, the visions confused him except he clearly recalled Joss’s unquestioning protection of him. Shielding him from his pain.
Inhaling, she shifted, lids fluttered and her hazel eyes gazed into his.
Awe washed over him again. He couldn’t quite reconcile the Joss of yesterday with the vulnerable woman lying beside him. Studying her provided no clue.
Softly, he asked, “Who are you?”
Tensing, she drew away. “What?”
Damn. Leave it to him to fumble something as simple as good morning. Nothing about her was simple, or ordinary. “You stayed last night.”
With a wry smile, she sat up. “This is my bed.”
“Oh. Right.” He rested his head on his hands. “But you stayed with me.”
“I came in to check on you. You looked so cozy, I curled up too. I shouldn’t have.”
Yes. If he argued, she might withdraw, like before. “Are your aunt and grandmother still here?”
“They stayed upstairs.” Reading him too well, she added, “You were too weak.”
“I am kind of beaten up.” Yet she seemed somehow stronger. “How are you?”
“Never better.” She stood and put on a robe. “How about some eggs? Or pancakes?”
Hunger rumbled through his stomach. “Both?”
“You have your appetite back.” She knotted the belt. “I’ll start the coffee.”
After she left, he caught an awful scent. Of himself. His T-shirt smelled of sweat. And fear. The morning’s normalcy contrasted the bizarro events of the previous day. He couldn’t recall exactly what happened, but it seemed another world. No, a very strange dream.
In her bathroom, he found a towel and took a quick shower. He hated to put on the same clothes, so left his shirt off. For now, it would have to do.
Eric followed the smell of food to the kitchen, where Joss and Annie moved around each other efficiently.
Gaze wandering down his length, Annie froze, open-mouthed. “Good morning.”
“Hi.” Damn. Should have put the shirt on after all. “Excuse my appearance. Joss said to make myself at home.” He wouldn’t mention he normally slept in the buff.
Joss’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Did I mention Dr. Hendricks stayed the night?”
Annie tilted her head toward Joss. “No, in fact. You did not.”
“I might have an oversized shirt to fit you. Let me go look.” Joss hurried out.
Annie ogled him. “It explains breakfast. Joss isn’t a breakfast eater.”
“She’s not?” Something to file away, hopefully for future use.
As she returned and tossed him the lilac-colored tee emblazoned with the Lavender Hill Inn logo, Joss shot him an indecipherable look. “Gram and Aunt Lydia are here too.”
Hint taken. He struggled into the shirt. A snug fit, but it would have to do for no
w.
“Did you have a party or something? And didn’t invite me?” Annie sounded truly hurt.
“Of course not.”
Joss’s helpless look, he could decipher. “My truck broke down.”
Annie set her hand on her hip. “And you couldn’t walk home?”
“No, he came here for help,” Joss said.
“Because you’re a mechanical expert?” Annie challenged.
“No, because…” Joss extended her hand toward him in a take-it-away gesture.
“I couldn’t find my flashlight,” he blurted. “And it was too dark to check under the hood. And my head was killing me, so Joss’s grandmother gave me some tea….”
Joss nodded. “And he fell asleep.”
“Where?” Annie’s eyes narrowed.
“What?” Joss asked.
“Where did he fall asleep?” A gotcha expression lurked in Annie’s subdued smile.
“Good morning,” Lydia sang, entering. Passing him on the way to the coffee, she purred, “Well, hel-lo.”
“Morning.” Now he felt ridiculous wearing Joss’s shirt.
Relief sounded clear in Joss’s voice. “Aunt Lydia. Did you sleep well?”
After the aunt poured her coffee, Eric prepared himself a cup. The women puttered around, their good-natured banter putting him at ease. When they ate breakfast in the kitchen, the hominess left him with another kind of hunger—to have it every day.
After finishing, he offered to help clean up. They shooed him away.
“You’re right,” he said. “I should get to work.”
Joss turned uneasily to her grandmother, who reassured them both, “You’ll be fine. However, I wouldn’t eat at the diner.”
“Yeah. Probably not a good idea.”
“What’s wrong with the diner?” Annie asked.
Eric covered quickly. “I must have eaten some bad tuna. My stomach was a mess yesterday.”
When Annie turned away with a confused frown, he inclined his head toward the other room. Joss followed, and her relatives trailed along.
“I couldn’t leave without saying how grateful I am to each of you.”
Lydia smoothed her hair back. “You owe us nothing.”
