by Kathy Dexter
“From flattery to flirting?” She tapped his notebook. “A technique you’ve used before to get a story?”
His lips twitched. “Sometimes it works.”
“Not this time. Back to my question: how will you promote the book signing? A nice blurb could boost the turnout.”
“Still manipulating, I see.” Finn grinned. “We have a website. I’ll post an announcement there. Your turn to answer questions. What can you tell me about those men who tried to burn you out? Had you received any threats––letters, emails, phone calls––telling you to get out of town?”
How did he know what those creeps shouted? Those sources of his couldn’t possibly have overheard. Hunter breathed deeply. This could lead to the wrong kind of publicity.
“Threats?” Ignorance saturated Ally’s voice. “We’ve had nothing but positive feedback from our fans.”
“And their parents?”
“Same thing. They love the book and how it helps their kids.”
“Guess I’ll have to look elsewhere for answers.”
“Time to go already?” Ally stood.
“Not yet. No interview, no free publicity.”
Time to get Ally off the hook. Hunter slipped out of the bathroom and tiptoed quickly to the door off the deck. She managed to get it open without any noise, but made sure to shut it loudly.
“Ally! I’m back. I saw a car outside. We have company?” Hunter trod with firm steps across the wooden floor.
Ally introduced her to Finn. “He’s planning on giving us a lot of publicity for your book signing. But he also wants information about what happened Sunday night.”
“Well, I could use a drink if I’m going to be quizzed.” Hunter looked at Finn’s glass. “More lemonade?” She freshened drinks and provided a plate of chocolate chip cookies.
“How did you know these are my favorite?” Finn reached for a cookie, then took a second one.
Hunter smiled. “Aren't they everyone's?” She settled in for the questioning.
Finn regarded the two women, his dark eyes intent. “Look, let me be candid. The Sentinel is just a small local paper, but Sunday night's events have intrigued the big boys.”
“Big boys?”
“The wire services. They picked up my story from our website and republished it––with my byline.”
“And now they want more.” Hunter narrowed her eyes. “A human interest angle?”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t want to be under a microscope.” Steel laced Hunter’s words.
“You could already be there. As a result of the attack on the cottage, Mystic Lake could be inundated with press hounding you and the town. Is that what you want?”
Ally glowered “You’re using us to join a more prestigious paper.”
“Don’t judge me too harshly. I own the Sentinel and have no intention of giving it up.” He leaned forward. “I’m not looking to sensationalize what happened. Instead, I want answers. Don’t you? What made these bullies think they could intimidate you, frighten you into running away? How do we stop them?”
“Your words sound right. But they’re only words.” Doubt and cynicism reverberated in Hunter’s voice. “To get your story, you have to make people trust you.”
“Ally asked me what message was in your book.” Finn’s gaze fixed on Hunter. “To fight for what you believe is right. That's what good reporting is all about, too. Give people the truth, a weapon that stops evil, like those men who tried to burn down this house.”
Hunter pushed back her shoulders and set her jaw in a firm line. “What do you want to ask me?”
Finn handed her a folded sheet of paper. Hunter held it, mesmerized, as though it might be a snake ready to lash out and bite her. She took a deep breath and unfolded it.
While she read, Andy ate a third cookie. He chewed slowly, watching her. “Let's talk about bones.”
CHAPTER 14
A NGER TIGHTLY REINED IN, Hunter stalked into the police station.
The sergeant at the desk opened his mouth.
She didn’t give him a chance to speak. “Detective West expects me. Hunter Sloane.”
He scanned his clipboard, nodded, and pointed his thumb to the back.
She marched to Logan’s desk, opened a creased paper and flung it in front of him where he could easily read it. Her blood simmered with fiery heat, but she waited until he finished reading.
After scanning the article, he pressed his lips together and lifted his gaze to hers. “Where’d you get this?”
“Finn Franklin. He brought it to the cottage this morning.” She jabbed the paper with her finger. “This is about me. And my parents. Ten years ago.”
“I know.” He waved her to the chair next to his desk.
She sat and entwined her fingers to keep them from shaking. “Because you were there.”
“I didn't see your parents. Only you.”
“You pulled me out of the water, revived me.”
“Yes.”
Her voice softened to a whisper. “Tell me.”
He picked up the newspaper story. “Did reading this jolt your memory?”
“No.”
“Then this article has done nothing but create more turmoil. More questions and no answers.”
“I have the right to know what happened.” She pounded a fist on the desk as fire seethed along her veins. “You’re no better than the doctors and my aunt, making decisions for me.”
“They wanted to protect you.”
His cool, impassive response irritated her, adding coals to the furnace that flamed inside. “You're a policeman,” she snapped. “How do you feel when your suspects lie? Keep information to themselves that could solve a case?”
“I didn’t lie.”
“You just didn’t tell me everything.” Her lips curled in disgust. “Deciding what I should and shouldn’t know. Patronizing.”
“Ouch.” He grimaced. “Not my intention.”
Leaning toward him, she lightened her tone. “Then tell me. Help me unlock the memories.”
“I wish I could.” His eyes darkened to a deep forest green. “I can only speak of my own experience, which is accurately recorded in this article.”
“Are those bones that washed ashore––” She swallowed hard. “––connected to my parents?”
“The lab is testing them.”
“Then take my DNA for comparison.”
“All right. I’ll grab a tech from the lab.”
“Don’t do it just to pacify me.”
“Which would only anger you more, wouldn’t it?” He pushed out a pent-up breath. “We’ll uncover the truth.”
Hunter drummed her fingers on the desktop until Logan returned with a man in a white coat and opaque gloves. He asked her to open her mouth. When she did, he swabbed the inside of her cheek, then placed the cotton-tipped stick in a small tube.
“How long?” Logan asked.
“About a week?”
“Make it sooner if you can. It’s a rush job.”
The lab technician nodded and disappeared down a side corridor.
Hunter rose to go.
“How about some lunch?” Logan stood in front of her. “See if we can work this out.”
Despite her anger with him for making decisions about and for her, like her aunt, she’d connected with Logan on some deep level. Could she trust him? Or should she run as far from him as possible? “We can give it a try. But you’re on probation, mister. No more interference.”
As if testifying in court, he raised his hand, palm outward. “Promise.”
“Smart ass.” Hunter was torn between anger and amusement. “Let’s go.”
He stayed close as they left the police station, his musky scent whispering in the air. “Now that you’re determined to find out more about your family, do you have any idea where to begin?”
“I'm reading my grandmother’s journal, but it’s slow going. The writing is cramped and faded in many places, and she seems to
have a confusing mix of letters and numbers. It's like translating a foreign language.”
“What have you learned so far?”
“Mary Hawthorne included a note shoved into the first couple of pages that refers to her knowledge of herbs and their uses.” She glanced up at him, watching for his reaction to her next words. “Plus spells and incantations.”
“You find that odd?” He smiled and pointed to her amulet. “After what you’ve experienced in only a few days here?”
“None of it seems real. Like living in the fantasy world I created in my book.”
They crossed the street and approached the lunch truck nestled against the curb in front of a park. After Logan bought sandwiches and drinks, he directed Hunter’s attention to a bench a few feet away. “Here's someone who might offer some help.”
With Shadow curled near her shoes, Clarissa sat feeding the birds gathered for a handout. The cat seemed undisturbed by the flapping wings.
“She doesn't go after them?” Hunter asked.
Clarissa's eyes sparkled with humor. “Not really her cup of catnip. And they know it.” She flung a few more chunks of stale bread and then dropped the empty bag into the wicker basket next to her.
“I haven't had a chance to thank you for taking care of me at the Masquerade Ball,” Hunter said. “My fairy godmother coming to the rescue.” The sudden glaze of tears in Clarissa’s eyes startled Hunter. “Did I say something to upset you?”
“Just the opposite, my dear.”
“Join us for lunch,” Logan said. “I bought extra when I spotted you sitting here.”
He distributed the goods to the women on the bench, then leaned against a tree next to Hunter and unwrapped his food.
“That's very kind of you. How about some apples to go with those sandwiches?” She lifted a plump red one from her basket and handed it to Hunter.
“Looks delicious.” Hunter took a bite of the sweet, tangy flesh. Juicy snippets bubbled in her mouth and trickled down her throat, shooting fiery zaps throughout her body. “Whoa! I’ve never tasted anything like this before!”
Clarissa nibbled at her sandwich. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Never better.” As Hunter munched on the apple, a strange but pleasing warmth slipped into her core and radiated outward until her skin tingled. The black curtain holding her memories captive jerked sideways.
The dragon pendant hummed, its sapphire radiance surging, embracing the heat channeling from Hunter. A phosphorescent mist undulated from the amulet and shimmered around Clarissa, clinging to her.
She touched Hunter’s cheek. “Don't ever take off the pendant. It will keep you safe.”
Lightheaded, Hunter rested her head against the back of the bench.
Logan bent over her. “What is it?”
“Those words. I've heard them before.”
“Where?”
“In the hospital.” Hunter’s trembling fingers touched Clarissa’s hand through the mist. “Were you there?”
“My dear, I so hoped you’d recognize me on your own. Then I’d know you’d found your memories.” Clarissa’s voice wavered. “I’m your grandmother. Your father’s mother.”
Hunter choked on a sob. Her mind spinning with all kinds of emotions, she wrapped her arms around Clarissa and pulled her close.
The blue mist hovered a moment before it dissipated.
Clarissa patted her on the shoulder. “It’s all right, love. I’m here to help any way I can.”
Hunter leaned back and searched the face of the woman she still couldn’t recognize. Yet they had the same blue eyes, the same high cheekbones. What else did they share? “Why can’t I remember you?”
“Think about what you’ve read in Mary Hawthorne’s journal.” Logan put a hand on Hunter’s shoulder. “We think you’re under a spell.”
Hunter jumped up and stared at them both. “That’s crazy.”
“You have the news article and my interview with the reporter,” Logan said. “The destruction of the boat displayed all the earmarks of a magical event. The killer didn’t have to be on the boat.”
Eyes hard blue steel, Clarissa tightened her lips. “Just close enough to weave a charm or recite an incantation.”
“The police wouldn’t believe me when I suggested the possibility back then.” Frustration colored Logan’s words. “Chief Stoner doesn’t accept such ‘nonsense’ as legitimate police work. So I went to the Gyld with my suspicions.”
“Gyld?” Hunter asked.
“Similar to a clan,” Logan explained. “They have access to the powers of the Ancients and protect the wisdom and knowledge handed down to them and their descendants. As you’ve learned, many folks in Mystic Lake have magic in their DNA, as bequeathed to them by their ancestors. The Gyld’s mission is to protect that magic.”
Clarissa scowled. “And look what a great job they did safeguarding Hunter from those savages who tried to burn her out.”
“I know you’re worried,” Logan soothed. “The Gyld is working on that.”
Hunter wanted to know more about what happened ten years ago. “Did the Gyld uncover any evidence?”
“Even though they believed I was right, they could find no trace of a spell,” Logan said. “As a result, they were unable to determine what ingredients were used or who created it. They tried to fabricate counterspells to help you, but without knowing what was used in the original concoction, they didn’t succeed.”
“Incompetent,” Clarissa muttered.
“Or the spellcaster destroyed the evidence,” Logan suggested.
A spell. Hunter again felt thrust into a fantasy world. Was she just dreaming the whole Mystic Lake experience? Would she wake up and discover she’d been dreaming? She copied Ally’s earlier actions and pinched her arm. Nope. Not a dream. Hunter fingered her pendant with the magical dragon. That was real, wasn’t it?
Logan moved closed and murmured, “The black curtain shrouding your past could have been placed there deliberately.”
“But a spell?” Seemed too preposterous.
“I’m convinced a dark enchantment is blocking your memories,” Logan said.
“In a sense, it put you to sleep.” Clarissa held up the apple core. “I had hoped this apple would awaken you.”
“Spell versus spell?” Hunter rubbed her forehead. Too much oddball, farfetched information to absorb.
Clarissa nodded. “You felt it, didn’t you? And your dragon did, too. That’s why the blue fog wrapped around us. Unfortunately, the dark enchantment is much stronger than I thought.”
“I don’t like the idea that some kind of magic can control me.” Hunter wrung her hands. “When would someone have done this to me? On the boat before it was destroyed? Afterwards, when I was in the water?”
Logan wadded the paper from his sandwich and tossed it in a nearby garbage can. “My guess is later. When I brought you ashore, you called out for your parents, remembered them at that point. Then you passed out. I found a bad wound on the back of your head.”
“From hunks of wood when the boat tore apart?”
“Maybe.” Logan’s words grated. “Or someone clobbered you.”
“The police didn’t consider that possibility?”
“Why? They believed the whole thing was an accident. Or I might have clunked your head on a hard object when I pulled you to shore. To give them credit, they did look for evidence of foul play, and found nothing. And no bodies to say otherwise.”
“You think someone killed my parents, don’t you?” Hunter shivered as coldness seeped into her bones. “And tried to kill me?”
Logan tugged on an ear. “That’s what Clarissa and I believe, but we have no proof. Only suspicions. We think you witnessed what happened.”
“So someone cast a spell in order to make me forget?”
“Which may have kept you safe,” Logan said. “If you can’t remember, why kill you and take a chance that the police would dig deeper into your parents’ deaths?”
&
nbsp; This time the frigid iciness sank into Hunter’s core. She wrapped her arms around her middle to stop the trembling.
Logan removed his jacket and put it around her, keeping a hand on her shoulder. “You’re not alone.”
Good to know. But these people were still strangers to her. How could she trust them? Hunter touched her pendant.
The blue mist swirled outward from the dragon once again and surrounded all three. Actually four if the cat counted. A mellow throbbing vibrated like musical rhythms of ancient rituals. Ancient rituals? How would I know that? Hunter blinked and the mist evaporated.
Shadow leaped into Hunter’s lap, stretched upward, and licked her chin.
Clarissa stroked the cat’s back. “Has Shadow convinced you we are on your side?”
Hunter looked deep into the cat’s odd eyes. Reflections of light danced from the luminous blue one into the rich green of the other. Communicating with her? Hunter tried a mind link. Can I believe these two? Her eyes widened with surprise when Shadow gave a slight nod before leaping to the ground and sauntering off.
“Tell me about your visit in the hospital,” Hunter said to Clarissa. “Was that right after Logan brought me out of the lake?”
Clarissa shook her head. “I was far up north seeing. . .a relative. . .when that happened. By the time I returned to Mystic Lake, Miranda had already transported you to a city hospital.”
“And you came there.”
“Yes.”
Hunter chewed on her lower lip. “Why haven’t I seen you in all these years?”
“At the hospital you screamed every time I entered the room. I couldn’t understand why I frightened you so. The doctors told me you would be ill for days after. That’s when I first suspected a dark enchantment. I couldn’t take a chance that my nearness would make you irretrievably ill, perhaps cause such mental anguish you’d be placed in an institution.”
“I don’t remember your visits or my reactions,” Hunter confessed. “But then they gave me a lot of medication. I slept most of the time.”
Clarissa sighed. “I traveled to the city a few times each year and watched from the shadows to assure myself you were all right.”
“Paul Fleming was your doctor then?” Logan asked Hunter.
