by Madelyn Alt
“Look at that,” Marcus said, awed.
I was looking. It made me as nervous as hell. First Marion’s dark Something, then the flickering electricity. And now, seeing the disturbance firsthand, even in digital form, was just taking me a step too far onto the path toward the Otherworld. I grabbed my cup and took a big gulp of coffee. It was blissfully, shockingly hot, but it was very real and very normal, and it reminded me that I was, too. I took another gulp, grimacing as the nerves in my tongue sizzled.
Marion, on the other hand, looked as pleased as punch. “I knew it was something! I knew I wasn’t just reading too much into things.”
“Oh, it’s something, all right. Aunt Marion, I can’t believe you have this on file. It’s amazing. Listen, I’d like to show it to some of the other N.I.G.H.T.S. Can you make a copy of it for me?”
“Of course I can. Well, I could if my DVD drive hadn’t gone down. We’ve had a rash of computer equipment malfunctions of late. Things melting down left and right. That wouldn’t have anything to do with this, would it?”
“It’s possible,” Marcus told her. “Electronics are notoriously unreliable around active locations. Battery-powered items are even worse. E-mail?”
“I’ll e-mail it off to you right now.” Marion’s fingers clicked across the keys. She paused a moment, gazing at her beloved nephew. “You know, dear heart, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
“Sure, Auntie. Anything, you know that.”
She nodded, taking her time to sort through her thoughts. “Well, since you don’t seem to mind, I don’t see any point in beating around the bush. Marcus, honey, are you a Christian?”
Chapter 8
The unexpected question made me splutter into my coffee.
Marcus, however, proved as unflappable as his aunt. It must be in the genes. “What makes you ask that?” he said, keeping his eyes on the laptop screen.
“Well, I don’t know, exactly. Intuition, maybe. Are you?”
He sighed and squatted down next to her, taking her hands in his. “No, Aunt Marion. I would say I’m not what you or most people would consider a Christian.”
“Ah. I didn’t think so.”
“Does that bother you?”
A smile played about her generous mouth, and she patted his cheek. “No, honey, it doesn’t bother me. I know your heart, remember? You do what feels right to you. The rest generally takes care of itself, doesn’t it?”
Marcus grinned up at her. “Aunt Marion, I have to say your view of the universe is very progressive.”
“Thank you. I like to think I’m a pretty hip chick.”
Much hipper than me, apparently. I was still stuck in the mire somewhere, trying to decide what was right and wrong. But maybe that was the problem. Maybe I was thinking too much. Maybe I just needed to trust myself. To trust what felt right.
“Besides,” Marion continued, “I have a feeling your alternative viewpoint is going to come in very handy here.”
“You know I live to serve.”
“What should I do now?” Marion asked as the computer windows closed down, one by one. “I mean about the library, of course.”
“Do you feel comfortable carrying on?” Marcus asked her.
“Do I feel comfortable?” Marion looked as though the contrary had never occurred to her. “Of course I feel comfortable. The library is my home.”
“And you feel safe despite what’s been happening?”
She shrugged. “I’m not going to be intimidated by a little air disturbance,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’ve been living with him, or whatever it is, for twenty-five years now. If it’s not going away, it has to accept that neither am I. I’ll be fine.” She lit up all of a sudden, excitement making her seem suddenly years younger. “I’ll tell you what. One happy by-product of all of this is that I have really found the most intriguing little tidbits in the course of my research, about the library and Stony Mill in general. I’ve made copies of everything I’ve found and I’ve just started cataloguing it, trying to make sense of it all as I go. Fascinating stuff. Fascinating.” She looked at both of us. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but things seem to keep happening in Stony Mill.”
“Trust me,” I said, thinking of my own sense of impending calamity, “we’ve noticed.”
“And I’m not just talking about the murders. Are you aware that the county has had a rash of petty social disorder? Drugs, domestic problems, vandalism, aggression…it’s been happening left and right.The Gazette ’s police report column is overflowing with it.”
Well, I had to admit I hadn’t noticed that. I tended to avoid news reports when at all possible. I had found that the pain and suffering that was often conveyed in the reports was hurting me physically, and stayed with me far too long. It was better that I avoided it entirely. I figured if anything big happened, someone would tell me about it. Everything else was beyond my control.
But it did echo what Tom had said in passing.
“It’s affecting everyone. Good, churchgoing people. Why, just yesterday I saw Louisa Murray—you remember that she won that big armoire in the crafters’ auction? Anyhoo, Louisa told me that someone had chopped her beautiful roses down to the nubs, presumably out of spite or mischief. Years and years of tending and of growth gone, just like that. And after losing her husband early last year to the cancer, well, it’s just inconceivable to me. Why would anyone want to pick on a widow woman like that? I just don’t know what this world is coming to.” She shook her head, tsk-tsking away.
Neither did I. And wasn’t that the trouble? Our world was going crazy, and our town was, unfortunately, displaying all the symptoms.
Marcus and I were silent as he drove me back to my apartment, each of us absorbed in our own thoughts. As for mine, they weren’t pretty. Stony Mill was sick, that much was clear. The town had come down with the Big City Crazies, and we didn’t have the resources to combat it. Which didn’t seem too important right now. The big question was, what were we as a community going to do about it?
Combine that with my earlier discovery that the world I knew was a far more complex and shadow-ridden place than I had ever dreamed, and it left me feeling more than a little vulnerable. Fear could be crippling, or it could motivate a person to fight back. I was straddling the fence between the two options, and I knew it. Could I find the strength within myself to make a stand with the forces of Light before the darkness took over my town completely?
“Maggie.”
“Hmm?” I pulled myself away from the worries that were eating at my composure.
Marcus was gazing at me, his angular cheekbones and lean jaw highlighted by the dim glow from the dash. “We’re here,” he said in a quiet voice that harmonized with the stillness in the truck cab.
I looked up to see the familiar outlines of the aging Victorian house against the backlight of the town glow reflected in the sky. Home, sweet home.
The streetlamp in the back alley blinked out as we entered the pea-gravel drive.
“Damn,” I said, staring up at it. “I hate it when that happens.”
“Want me to walk you to the door?”
I gave him a grateful glance. “Would you mind? I still get a little creeped out going into a dark apartment after the break-in. I mean, I know it had little to do with me personally, but still…”
“Happy to. You know that.”
He left the pickup running, its headlights providing ample light as we walked companionably up the drive.
“Marcus,” I said when we reached the recessed entrance to my pseudo dungeon, “do you ever wonder about what’s been going on around here? In Stony Mill, I mean.”
“Yeah. I have to admit I have.”
“It doesn’t feel right.”
“No. I’m not sure what we can do about it, though.”
“I know,” I said as I started down the stairs. “But sometimes I get the feeling that we’re supposed to do something. I just don’t know what that is.�
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In the puddle of illumination from the security light over my door, I dug for my keys. “Aha, there you are. Pesky little things, always hiding on me. Or maybe it’s gremlins.”
“Or fairies. They can be very sneaky.”
I laughed in spite of myself. “A man who believes in fairies. I would never have guessed.”
“I believe in lots of things.”
Typical Marcus. As mysterious as ever. “Seeing is believing?”
“Sometimes, believing means seeing. And not only in the gullible sense.” Marcus took the keys from my hand and opened the door for me, reaching within for the light switch. Taking me by the hand, he led the way in, giving the room a quick but thorough once-over before stepping aside. “Everything looks okay, I guess.”
“Thanks, Marcus.”
“I haven’t checked your bedroom, of course,” he said, grinning at me and waggling his eyebrows.
I laughed in spite of myself. “Well, now, did you think you were going to?”
“Just thought I’d make the offer.”
The tone was light, but I’d glimpsed a flicker of something in his eyes before he looked away, and it was anything but teasing. And in that moment I knew that the subtle shift I was feeling in the air at that moment had nothing to do with gremlins, fairies, ghosts, or even a malfunctioning power supply. It was him. And, God help me, it came from me as well.
“Yeah. Thanks. Well, goodnight, then,” I said, edging toward the door. I grabbed hold of the knob and pulled the door open, leaning on it for support with my heart yammering away in my chest as Marcus moved silently toward the only exit…and me.
For a moment I thought I was safe. That the heightened awareness I was feeling around him was nothing more than a by-product of the weirdness in the library following on the heels of the tragic events of the weekend. Survivor syndrome, nothing more. And then he leaned in to give me the usual friendly parting peck on the cheek.
Something shifted in the air again, and before I knew it, so had we.
“Maggie,” he breathed, dangerously close to my mouth.
I couldn’t make myself move. I was lost to this one space in time, incapable of conscious thought or action. My eyes drifted closed of their own accord, and I had the sense, briefly, that this had happened between us before. Seconds ticked by unnoticed before his hand came up under my jaw to tilt my head back. My chin fit neatly into his palm, and his thumb tested the very corner of my lips. Gently. Sweetly.
And then slowly, irrevocably, he lowered his mouth to mine.
Attraction is a funny thing. Sometimes it comes at you like a randy bull in mating season—ready, raring to go, and unwilling to admit defeat. Other times it sneaks in like a cat through the back door, peeping around corners, skulking behind the furniture, until the singularly perfect moment of its choice when it decides to pounce on your chest, sink in its claws, and Make Itself Known. And then, sometimes, it’s a force of nature, like spring rain or summer sunshine or the sweeping winds of winter scraping over the frozen earth. It just is.
I didn’t have the time or presence of mind to decide which of these applied in this case. I was too busy enjoying the feel of Marcus’s body crushing mine against the door. His hands were splayed on either side of me, flat against the planes of the door itself, as though he didn’t trust himself to let them roam free. It didn’t seem to matter, though—he was more than making up for it with the rest of him. As for me, at some point in time I’d wound my arms tight around his neck, and I was clinging to him like a drowning soul. And maybe I was, just a little. Maybe I needed a bit of earth to hold on to.
I don’t know how long it was before we came up for air. Long enough for the door panels to be imprinted into my shoulder blades, and more than long enough for my body to be singing his praises. That he was feeling the same way was perfectly, deliciously obvious, and yet we both pulled back at the same moment.
Only a hairbreadth, but it was enough.
“Sorry,” he whispered, his breath warm against my lips. “That was out of line—”
“No, don’t,” I whispered back, trying to rein in the physical reactions that were demanding further action. “You wouldn’t have if I hadn’t—”
He hadn’t stepped back, and I hadn’t let go. I think I was afraid to. That would mean moving, which was risky, risky, risky.
It took supreme strength of will to push sensation away and replace it with reason. Somehow, we both managed.
My breath rushed out, in relief, in disappointment, in acceptance. I’d get over it, just as soon as my hormones stopped clamoring. That’s all this was. Hormones.
The guilt, I knew, would come later. Just as soon as the sexual fog had cleared from my brain. That was pretty much a guarantee.
I couldn’t immediately look him in the eye. I locked my gaze on his Adam’s apple instead, and swallowed hard.
“I, uh, guess I’d better go,” he said, beating me to the punch. He pushed off the door, and me, a few inches.
All I could do was nod and try not to feel the pain of the loss too much.
“Okay. Well, if you’re sure,” he hedged.
“Marcus.” I risked a glance up at him. “I…I just can’t. Tom—”
He pushed the rest of the way off and turned his face aside. A muscle in his jaw gripped and flexed with the effort. “Hey, it’s no big deal. No problem. I understand.”
“I just—”
“Yeah, I know. Tom.”
And Liss. I couldn’t do this. It was wrong.
Aaaand there was the guilt. Right on schedule.
What in heaven’s name was I thinking?
On second thought, that had been part of the problem. I hadn’t been thinking. I hadn’t been capable of it. Once I’d thought of Marcus as a dark and dangerous kind of guy. I just didn’t realize how susceptible I was to that kind of danger.
Good to know.
“Okay. Well, thanks for taking me tonight. It was…an illuminating evening.” In more ways than one.
He glanced my way at last, just a flash, but to me it was a sign that maybe he wasn’t so pissed at me that he wouldn’t get over it. “Yeah. See ya later.”
He touched my cheek before he left, his thumb grazing lightly over my cheekbone, but that was the end of it, and then he walked out the door. I closed it quietly behind him, still breathless and feeling as though I’d just rumbled with Don Juan and somehow come away with my panties still on. A nicer Don Juan, but a master seducer nonetheless. From the first moment I saw him, Marcus had exuded a deliciously sinuous male grace that was mesmerizing in action. I suppose I had Tom to thank that I’d withstood the call of this dark angel of temptation for as long as I had.
I would have said “Small favors,” but I really didn’t think Tom would appreciate it.
Chapter 9
By morning, the guilt that had settled in the night before had managed to magnify tenfold. I was pond scum. Worse than pond scum. I was the reek that resulted when pond scum had been baking under the hot summer sun. No one was lower than me. I had nearly betrayed the trust of a most beloved friend, and had no one to blame for it but myself. Pond scum that I was.
Liss and Tom both deserved better.
I forced myself out of bed, determined to face the day and face up to the consequences of my betrayal, whatever they might be, like a man. Well, woman. Whatever.
A shower seemed a good start. Hot, soapy, nonscummy water to wash away the lingering press of Marcus’s body…to clear the scent of leather and man from my nostrils…to strip the brush of his fingertips from my hair…
My eyes flared open under the torrent of hot water.
Oh, boy. I was in trouble. Big. Trouble.
Huge.
No wisecracks from the peanut gallery.
I jumped from the shower as though the hounds of hell were nipping at my nethers, and scrubbed myself dry. The clothes went on just as quickly: a rough wool sweater, trouser-style jeans, and pinch-toed boots. My hair I drew back in a
severe mass of bun at the nape of my neck—nothing soft and yielding about it. Today I was all about self-punishment and contrition. The bathroom lightbulb popped out of commission as I was leaving the room, but I paid no heed to this particular metaphysical raspberry other than to flip the power off. Even Christine’s determined radio static did not filter through the cloud of misery laying claim to my psyche. I punched the button to another station, but Christine has a way of doing what she wants. Pretty soon the radio was tuned to the oldies station again, with the warbling strains of that 1970s classic “Torn Between Two Lovers” grating on my nerves. I turned off the radio altogether, but it was too late. The song was stuck in my head on repeat.
I let myself in the back door of Enchantments as always, calling “Hello” to Liss, whose car was parked in its usual space.
“Out here, luv!” Liss called from beyond the purple velvet dividing curtains.
I set my purse down with a sigh and parted the curtains to go up and help myself to some of the coffee I could smell brewing. Liss was there, behind the counter, her glasses perched on the end of her nose while she studied the screen of her PDA.
And at the end of the counter…
“Marcus,” I gulped as my heart came to a screeching halt.
He glanced up at me. “Oh, hey. Mornin’, Maggie.”
Good morning, Maggie? That was civil. Blasé, even.
I cleared my throat. “Good morning.”
“Here, ducks, let me pour you a cuppa,” Liss said, slipping from her stool and pulling a cup from the shelf. “You look as though you could use something to get you going.”
I’d had quite enough to get me going last night.
I cleared my throat again.
“Are you coming down with something?” she asked, casting a narrowed glance in my direction. “I have just the thing. I’ll mix a bit of honey in. You don’t mind it sweet, do you? Do be careful, though, it’s a bit hot.”
This conversation was going from bad to worse with its unintended innuendo. “I’m all right, really. I’ll just take it plain, Liss.”
