Magic & Mayhem

by Susan Conley

  How could that be? Dare she look? How could she not? In one swift movement, Abigail switched the stone to one hand and lowered both arms. Her breath caught. Her beautiful amber stone turned blood red. Hot — but it did not burn. Pulsing — but it did not crack. Breathing? Impossible — it was not alive. But something was.

  Abigail blinked. Were her eyes playing tricks? Maybe it was the moonlight. She rubbed both lids with the heel of her free hand, looked back at the stone and blinked again. She was not imagining things. The warm gem looked like liquid fire. Suddenly, she wanted to drop it and run away. Then just as suddenly, her fear dissolved into something different — something much more powerful than anything she had ever felt before. There, just an arm’s length in front of her, she saw … what? Something? Someone?

  The gossamer form materialized in front of her like smoke captured in a life-sized jar. The spirit was so impossibly familiar that without thinking, Abigail reached out, but her hand felt nothing. Her heart, however, felt everything.

  “Grandma?” Abigail whispered, blinking again as the elusive image took form. Kind face. Loving eyes. Tender smile. Her favorite dark bonnet rested just above the graying bun she always secured at the nape of her neck. Her customary long black dress trimmed in white dissipated into the darkness as the gently spirit hovered in front of her.

  “Yes, Child.”

  Abigail’s breath caught. “It can’t be. You’re … ”

  “Dead,” the spirit finished gently.

  Unable to repeat the word, Abigail nodded.

  “Yes, My Dear, it’s true. I have passed from this life to the next.”

  Cradled by the soothing, familiar voice, Abigail felt no fear. She had adored her Grandmother and whatever veil was lifted tonight, it didn’t matter. Just one more chance to talk to her filled Abigail with such joy. “Oh, Grandma, I miss you so much.”

  “Abigail, you must know that I am always with you.”

  “But there are so many things I want to ask — ”

  “Ask your Mother, Child. Mind what she tells you. I passed ‘the ways’ onto her just as she will pass them on to you.”

  “But — ”

  “Hush now and listen to me. I haven’t much time.”

  Abigail pressed her lips together. Willing away the thought of losing her Grandmother again, she waited with baited breath, afraid to take her eyes off the beloved apparition for even a second.

  “Ours is a very special gift, but with it comes a great responsibility.”

  Abigail nodded.

  “Pay careful attention to your mother’s instructions and, above all else, always use your power for good.”

  “I will.”

  “Only for good,” she repeated. “Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  “No matter what happens, you must trust your instincts. Know that your gift will show you the way.”

  “I will trust my instincts and my gift to show me the way,” she repeated carefully.

  “Understand that the answers you seek may not always appear in this lifetime — ” At Abigail’s intake of breath, she added, “But don’t be afraid, Child.

  Abigail swallowed hard. “I won’t be. I swear.”

  “You must also know that others will use their power for evil. But you must believe what I am about to say. I have seen you in another time and place. I am telling you to remember three things. Remember to seek what is yours. Remember a place called Springfield, Illinois. Remember the year.

  Confused, but trusting Abigail repeated, “Seek what is mine. Springfield, Illinois. Twenty-first century … I’ll remember.”

  “I warn you, Child. Don’t forget.”

  As the image began to fade, tears scalded Abigail’s cheeks. “Don’t go, Grandma. Please don’t leave me again.”

  “Hold close your special stone, and I will always be with you.”

  Curling her fingers around glowing amber gem, Abigail felt the cool night breeze dry her tears. Her grandmother was gone, but so were Abigail’s fears. Rather than feeling heartbroken and alone, joy filled her soul. She turned on both heels and raced as fast as her legs would carry her. Home. To tell her mother. And no one else. Not ever. Those were the rules.

  Chapter Eight

  Abby Corey checked her watch and tapped the toe of her sleek black pump. Arriving at Mr. Hawthorne’s office ten minutes early simply gave her more time to consider the bizarre circumstances. How often do you fly clear across the country to receive a three hundred-year-old inheritance from an anonymous benefactor? As anxious as she was to see the necklace and get this ordeal over with, keeping her skepticism at bay the past couple of days had been a far greater challenge. Still leery, she looked around the upscale law office.

  On the surface, at least, this Hawthorne guy appeared to be successful. Soothing blue walls. Plush, navy carpet. Rich antique furnishings. Her racing pulse calmed a couple of beats. Besides, she had checked out the firm before agreeing to meet with him in person, and according to her lawyer, Hawthorne’s practice was well respected.

  “Lovely office,” Abby commented.

  Maxine nodded. “Mr. Hawthorne’s having it refurbished in a couple of days, but for the life of me I don’t know why,” she huffed. “I told him it was just a waste of good money — ”

  When the intercom buzzed interrupting Maxine’s well-intentioned observations, Abby couldn’t help but think of Kat. She had been outspoken in that same way. And right now, Kat would be the first one to tell Abby to straighten up, ditch the survivor’s guilt, and get on with her life.

  “Miss Corey?” Maxine smiled. “Mr. Hawthorne will see you now.”

  According to the brass nameplate on the desk in the outer office, Abby was following Maxine Spencer, the secretary who had telephoned her. As prim and business-like as Ms. Spencer appeared to be, Abby had taken an instant liking to her, both over the phone and in person. With Kat gone, connecting with another female even on a superficial level offered an achingly familiar feeling that she missed. She waited while the older woman gave a courtesy knock before opening the door, then accompanied her into his office.

  “Mr. Hawthorne, Miss Corey is here to see you,” Maxine announced before stepping back into the hall and closing the door behind her.

  Jack looked up from a note he was writing. When dark eyes locked with green, his pencil point snapped like a dry twig. He tossed it down without a glance and gestured in the direction of the plush, leather chair opposite his desk.

  “Please, sit down, Miss Corey.”

  “Abby,” she corrected, unable to move or take her eyes off his face. That face.

  That’s the face I saw the day I held the amulet. He smiled. “Call me Jack.”

  Unsure if her legs would carry her, Abby nodded. Who wouldn’t be shaky after losing her friend, her home and her business just weeks ago? This may have been her first personal meeting since the fire, but she was determined to keep her poise. So Abby focused on the obvious and sized Hawthorne up as she crossed the large, spacious room. Probably six foot four in his bare feet. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Resurrecting her most business-like smile, she sat down.

  “Coffee?” he asked.

  “I’d love a cup.” She didn’t even drink coffee.

  “Cream or sugar?”

  “Black.” She loved cream and sugar in her tea.

  Brimming cups in hand, Jack turned and passed one to Abby.

  “Thanks.” The beautiful piece of antique furniture centered on the expansive wall behind his desk caught Abby’s attention. “I love your sideboard. Someone has an extremely discerning eye.”

  “Family heirloom,” he clarified.

  Abby liked the way he had put the handsome piece to good use. Coffee pot. Pewter weathervane. Exquisite bouquet of burgundy-colored mums. Her breath caught at the
sight of them.

  “It’s gorgeous.” She noted the heavily carved human figures, dragons and griffins.

  Jack leaned back. “You like antiques.” It wasn’t a question.

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” She studied the sideboard more carefully, then met his gaze. “Tell me that’s not an R.J. Horner.”

  “You’re familiar with his work?”

  “Absolutely. He was New York City’s premier furniture maker in the late nineteenth century.”

  He steepled both hands. “One and the same.”

  “My guess,” she took in every carved detail, just for the beauty of it, “circa 1890.”

  “Right again.”

  A price tag of over thirty thousand came to mind. “I guess I don’t have to tell you that piece was quite a find.”

  “Just one more reason I’m glad I didn’t have to pay for it. That sideboard has been in the Hawthorne family for over one hundred years.”

  “Lucky you.” Her attention switched to his massive bookcase and matching desk. She reached out and touched the leather top. “These, too?”

  “No, I found this set at an estate sale in Boston.”

  “About the same time period, though, late 1800’s.” She noted the beautifully inscribed legs as well as the intricate carvings that detailed the bookcase. “Walnut?” Without waiting for his response, she added, “I’d guess … French Henry II.”

  “You’d be right.”

  Abby’s mental cash register cha-chinged a ballpark twenty thousand for the pair.

  Jack took a drink of coffee. “I’d say your interest in antiques goes a little beyond a hobby.”

  “Not really.” She shook her head. “I just love history in any form.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Speaking of unusual finds, I guess that’s why the necklace I inherited intrigues me so.”

  “It’s a strange one alright.” He took a drink of coffee. “Odds are this particular scenario will never happen again. But I am surprised you flew clear across the country just to pick it up.”

  Abby studied his dark gaze and set her cup on the corner of the immaculately polished desk. She thought about the fire and decided not to discuss it. “I wasn’t comfortable trusting the mail or any other delivery service with an heirloom.”

  “I see.”

  Abby wondered why he was still staring at her. Not that other men hadn’t — didn’t — but this was different. Jack Hawthorne’s eyes didn’t just look, they searched. The scary thing was that something deep inside her responded — big time. And as unnerving as her intuitive reaction to him was, she didn’t falter.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d love to see the necklace.”

  He shoved the wooden box across the expanse of his desk, his eyes never leaving hers. “Of course.”

  So, it had been there all the time. She removed the lid and carefully picked up the gold chain.

  “Exquisite,” slipped from her lips as the large amber stone emerged. Dangling the gem, she glanced at Jack. “And there is no way to trace who gave this to me? Or why?”

  Jack shrugged. “According to our records, the originating law firm received the necklace on October 31, 1692.”

  “All Hallows Eve.” Her voice was almost a whisper as she dangled the necklace in the sunlight.

  “Throughout the years, it was passed down from one law firm to the next. When I purchased the law practice of Parris, Goody and Lynch, I ended up with it,” he explained. “Obviously my firm was the last in line before the transaction deadline of October 31, this year.”

  She momentarily turned her attention to Jack. “Do you know anything about gems?”

  “I don’t know a diamond from an ice cube, but when I saw that stone, I have to admit that I was tempted to ask around.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “Nope.” Jack tossed down his pencil. “But if it were mine, I would.”

  “I’ll have a jeweler look at it, but only because I can’t place it,” she told him. “It’s just so … interesting, don’t you agree?” Abby smiled.

  Jack returned her grin. “I’d say interesting is an understatement.”

  “It’s not that it’s beautiful like a diamond or a sapphire. Not nearly as refined,” she noted, settling the gold chain back into the box. “It’s just unique.”

  “I never thought to ask, but would you like help putting it on?”

  “No thanks. I’d rather not.” Abby shifted in her seat. “I’ve just never liked necklaces — on me, that is,” she told him.

  “Not jewelry in general,” he pointed out.

  “Nope.” She fiddled with the large onyx ring she wore. “In fact, I don’t own a necklace.”

  “Talk about Murphy’s Law.”

  “Oh, it’s okay.” Thoughtful, Abby turned the stone in her fingers. “Don’t get me wrong. I like the look of necklaces, and this is by far the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen,” she qualified. “I think they look great on other woman.”

  She couldn’t help but notice his amused expression. “Smirk, if you like, but I don’t even like turtlenecks. They just feel too tight, or something.”

  “Neck phobic? Now that’s a new one.” Jack eased back in his chair and studied her face. The angle of her jaw. The tilt of her chin. The curve of her lips. “Or maybe you were attacked by a vampire in a past life.”

  “I don’t think so.” For some reason, she found it easy to play along with him. “I believe if that were true, I’d have turned into a vampire myself.”

  “Not necessarily,” he pointed out. “You wouldn’t change if you were only bitten once or twice. If you check your basic vampire lore, I’m pretty sure it takes three bites to transform the victim.”

  “Third time’s the charm?”

  Jack shrugged. “Only if you find that whole eternal life thing appealing.”

  “And you don’t?” Abby slipped the lid onto the box.

  Willing his gaze away from the box, Jack took a breath. “Not if I had to go through eternity alone.”

  “Now that’s romantic.” She grinned.

  “Ya think?”

  “Um hmm. What good would flitting through the ages do without your true love? That would make living forever — ”

  “One helluva long time.” Jack cleared his throat. “I realize it’s late, but if you haven’t eaten lunch, I know a great place nearby.”

  “I’d like that. I came here straight from the airport.” When Abby’s mouth opened, the words had simply tumbled out. Had she based her decision on the haunting sense of familiarity that had settled around her since she met Jack Hawthorne? Or was it simply hunger? Regardless, how much harm could one meal do?

  “Lunch it is.” As Jack stood, the phone rang. He checked his watch. “This might be the call I was expecting,” he explained. “Excuse me just a minute.”

  “Hello.”

  Hawthorne shook his head in Abby’s direction, confirming the change she’d heard in his voice. This phone call was personal, not business.

  “I’m on my way out.” Jack snagged a piece of paper from his desk, crumpled it and tossed it in the waste can. “I’ll call you back.”

  Abby rose, purse and pine box in hand.

  “We can discuss that tonight.” He held up one finger. “I told them we’d be there at seven.”

  The moment Jack put down the phone, Abby insisted, “I can see you’re busy, so, I think I’ll just pass on lunch. That obviously wasn’t the call you’ve been waiting for, and I really should be going anyway.”

  Jack nodded an apology. “Thanks for coming. I’m sure Maxine already had you sign all the appropriate forms.”

  “Yes, she’s really quite amazing,” Abby commented, moving toward the door.

  “Maxine?�
��

  “Efficient and friendly. In my experience that’s rare.” She faced him. “You look shocked.”

  “Let’s just say, it normally takes people a while to warm up to Maxine.”

  “That’s funny. We clicked right away.” Abby shrugged. “Thanks for everything, Mr. Hawthorne.”

  “It’s been a pleasure.”

  “Yes, it has.” Abby reached for the door.

  “Do you want to get a hotel room?”

  Her hand missed the knob. “Excuse me?” She held her breath.

  “Reservations,” he clarified. “If you’re not leaving tonight, I just wondered if you made your reservations yet? If not, you can call from here.”

  She exhaled. “Yes, I made those arrangements before I came.” This time her fingers found their mark. “I’m staying in Salem.”

  “Ah, the witch city.”

  His comment sent a shiver down Abby’s spine. “Uh huh.”

  Jack rounded his desk as she opened the door. “Sounds like you’ll be doing some sightseeing.”

  “Well, I did come a long way.” All she had to do was just thank the man and go. So, why didn’t she? Instead, she stood in the doorway, trying to spit out the simple word good-bye to a total stranger. “Things back home are kind of up in the air right now, so I’m staying a few days.”

  Trying to keep his mind off the amulet, he closed the gap between them. “Then let me show you around while you’re here.”

  Abby liked his relaxed grin. His easy way. And something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “Thanks. I’d like that. I guess there’s no better guide than a local, right?”

  “Absolutely. Let’s start with breakfast tomorrow morning,” he suggested. “What time?” He leaned against the doorframe.

  Abby shrugged. “How about ten o’clock?”

  “Ten it is.”

  “I’m staying at Hannah’s Inn. I think it’s on … Esther … No, Lennox”

  “Essex Street,” he corrected.

  “That’s it.” Pine box in her grasp, Abby hiked up the shoulder strap of her purse and extended her free hand. “Thanks again for finding me.”