Magic & Mayhem

by Susan Conley

  Her eyes widened, and she glanced around. What the hell? Why did she feel like she had just taken an unexplainable trip down memory lane?

  Historic surroundings. That had to explain it. Well, that and one too many travel brochures. Refocusing on the scent of freshly baked bread wafting through the outdoor restaurant, Abby shook off her cryptic, not to mention ridiculous, thoughts and finished eating. After breakfast, she walked to the foot of Turner Street and entered Hawthorne’s House of the Seven Gables.

  Chapter Twelve

  Umbrellaed in shadow, Zeke leaned against the trunk of a giant oak tree and observed Abigail Corey through the veil of crimson leaves that weighed down its branches. As imposing as he was, he somehow managed to blend in — a talent his line of work had demanded. As he studied the Corey woman finishing her coffee on the sunny café patio, his thoughts returned to the night that he torched Aromatiques.

  As feisty as her friend had been, and she had put up one amazing fight, in comparison, Zeke wished Abigail Corey had been the one he had found upstairs. Not just because that Bishop woman flipped when she found out it had been Abigail’s friend, Kat Richards, who had perished in the fire. But from the looks of the illustrious Miss Corey, he had missed out on one hell of an opportunity.

  After seeing her this morning, he definitely planned to make up for losing out the first time around. From her shiny auburn hair to the curve of her ass in those jeans, the woman was hot. And even from his vantage point across the street, he sure as hell didn’t mind looking. Of course, touching would be better, much better, but he would save that for later. Zeke’s gaze narrowed as he interlaced his fingers and straightened both arms. As his knuckles cracked his resolve strengthened.

  • • •

  Abby started out with a gregarious group of tourists, but quickly struck out on her own. For some reason, the congenial group grated on her nerves. But, more than that, she was aggravated with herself for not having a better time. And why was that? She couldn’t put her finger on it, but the strange uneasiness she’d experienced earlier had returned. And not just come back, but it had grown into a foreboding restlessness, much more than anxiety, and she simply could not shake the feeling. Probably just the events of the past few weeks, she reasoned. The fire. Kat. Her heart sighed. She had to use this time to regroup and take hold of her life again.

  If nothing else, Abby had needed distance. A true, physical separation. September thirtieth had changed her entire world. She would never, ever be the same again. Right now, however, what Abby needed most was time enough to contemplate her future. Or, at the very least, the uncertainty of her future and what that meant.

  Lagging behind the others, Abby heard their irritating chatter fade as they moved on. Finally, peace and quiet. Able to browse at her own pace, she coaxed herself to relax and enjoy. After all, she had always wanted to visit Salem. Not only was the town steeped in legends, but its history had fascinated her for as long as she could remember. So why was she still so on edge?

  A cloud veiled the sun, casting a disturbing gloominess over the room. She shivered. Anticipating, what? Abby noticed a tall man, probably a good six feet six step around the corner at the far end of the hall and face her. Muted by the shadows his bald head and pale skin accentuated dark, penetrating eyes. He stood momentarily and stared. The hair on the nape of Abby’s neck stood on end. Behind Abby a door slammed.

  “Did you know the wood-closet next to the fireplace contains a secret passage?”

  Abby gasped. It took a split second for the sound of Jack’s voice to register. She turned to face him. “No, Mr. Hawthorne, I can honestly say I did not know any such passage existed — secret or not.” When she turned back the tall, menacing man was gone.

  “About this morning — ”

  “Forget it.” She shrugged.

  “I’m sorry about being late.”

  The sincerity she sensed in his tone touched her. “Really, forget it.”

  “Okay.” He looked around. “How’s the tour going?”

  “It’s just getting started, but it’s great.” Who was she kidding? She was not enjoying the tour. And she hadn’t just taken this trip out east to pick up the amulet. She had come to Boston to make some major decisions about her life. As much as she would have given to change the events of the past few weeks, she couldn’t. No one could.

  “So, why don’t I believe you?”

  “Beats me. I guess lawyers are just the suspicious type.” As the sun came back out and chased the shadows away, Abby knew going forward, whatever path life presented, the one had always been her only option. Presently, however, she was not in any way prepared to face the devilishly handsome man asking the questions. If possible, she decided, Jack was even more attractive than she remembered. Dark, windblown hair. Sexy grin. Sunglasses.

  Abby fought the obvious resemblance between Jack and the man in her dream, trying her best to ignore his black cotton sweater and well-worn black jeans — a modern day version of the phantom’s attire. She shook off the nightmare and folded her arms, not sure exactly what it was she wanted to hear. “Well, what happened?”

  Jack pulled off his Ray-Ban Aviator sunglasses and slid one bow down the front of his sweater. “Maxine called at the crack of dawn. Major computer problems among other things. I had to go to the office.” He moved in Abby’s direction.

  She took a step back. “Ms. Spencer works on Saturday?”

  “Maxine works whenever she damn well pleases. Always has,” he explained. “As it turned out, it’s a damn good thing she went in today.”

  Abby couldn’t argue with his explanation. “So, everything’s fine now.”

  “Yes.” Jack shoved both hands into his jeans’ pockets. “When I found out I wasn’t going to make it by ten o’clock, I tried to call, but you had already gone.”

  She listened. Wishing he wasn’t so close. Wishing he was closer. Wishing she could figure out why this stranger simply did not feel strange to her.

  “You know,” he added, “you could have cut me some slack and at least waited a few minutes.”

  “When you didn’t show up, I decided your offer might have been tentative.” She arched one brow. “You know a proper offer to placate the client.”

  Jack stepped directly in front of her. “Legal or otherwise, I don’t offer my services lightly.”

  The sincerity in his eyes echoed the honesty in his voice. “That’s good to know,” she managed, considering how close he stood.

  Jack glanced around. “Don’t look now, but I think you’ve lost your tour guide.”

  Deliberately putting a little distance between them, she walked to the doorway and peaked around the corner. “I guess I did.”

  “My offer still stands.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She shrugged her shoulders but returned his smile. “Maybe I should find a real guide. You don’t even live in Salem, do you?”

  He raised both palms. “No, but my ancestors did. Does that count?”

  “Really?” She thought a moment, then snapped her fingers. “Did your Hawthornes used to be Hathornes — until they added the ‘w’?”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  “So, you’re related to John Hathorne, the magistrate that conducted the preliminary examinations prior to the witch trials of 1692.” It wasn’t a question.

  “My great, great, great Grandfather, or however many greats it takes to go back over three hundred years.”

  “And Nathaniel Hawthorne?”

  “Culpable again.” Lowering his hands, Jack slipped one arm around Abby’s waist. “Since I’ve got the Hawthorne, or should I say the Hathorne clout, looks like you’re coming with me after all.” In the professional monotone of a guide, he continued, “Now, as I was saying, this wood-closet hides a secret stairway to the master bedroom. It was used as a means of escape fro
m possible Indian attacks.”

  Abby couldn’t help but relax. Neither could she ignore the warmth of Jack’s hand on the small of her back, nor the comfortable, ridiculously familiar feeling she got from the gentle pressure of his fingertips.

  “Just Indian?” she asked. “Or any type of unwanted attack?”

  Jack’s laugh was low and suggestive as his fingers tightened against her skin.

  “You misunderstood.” He enunciated clearly, “I said the passage led to the master bedroom.”

  “Oh, I understood all right,” Abby assured him. “Apparently you haven’t talked to some of the same women I have.”

  “Touché. But that’s simple enough to explain,” he said.

  “Really?”

  “Those women just haven’t met the right man.”

  “Talk about over simplification.” Her eyes narrowed. “And you believe that’s all there is to it? Finding your true love solves everything?”

  “That’s it in a nutshell,” Jack concluded. “The operative word being right, of course. Well that, and the concept of one man and one woman who are meant to be together.”

  Abby rolled her eyes. “Surely not soul mates.” She turned away from the certainty in Jack’s stare.

  Without answering, he led her through the doorway and continued through the rest of the house.

  Abby bent down. “Look how low the doorknobs are.”

  “That’s because in 1668 people weren’t as tall as we are now. See, even the furniture is smaller.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you don’t do this for a living?”

  “Positive.”

  “Maybe just on the weekends?” she prodded.

  “Nope.”

  “But, you’re so good at it.”

  Jack looked her straight in the eye. “There are a lot of things I’m good at that have nothing to do with my job.”

  “Then, what you’re saying,” Abby arched one brow, “is you’re just not good enough at these other things to earn a paycheck.”

  Jack pressed both hands across his chest. “You’re killin’ me here.”

  “And to think I never believed lawyers had a heart.” Abby didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, she opened the door and stepped outside into the bright, autumn sunlight. Back into the twenty-first century.

  As she expected, Halloween week in Salem was notoriously popular. Camera toting tourists flocked to Massachusetts to experience All Hallows Eve in the Witch City. October thirty-first in Salem. The thought snaked through her mind, desperate to unearth something that felt as though it had been buried a long time ago. Something ominous. Maybe even dangerous. But just out of reach. Whatever it was, Abby felt confident her psyche would exhume it eventually. Until then, her unease would just have to rest in peace.

  Working their way through the crowd, Abby noticed how Jack kept her close, taking her hand in his. His warm, strong fingers wrapped around hers like a glove. Funny how natural it felt.

  Abby shelved the ridiculous familiarity right alongside the pulsing lights and frigid breeze she had experienced earlier in her room. Forcing herself to focus on the here and now, she shaded her eyes and scanned the busy street. “Where’s your car?”

  “I thought it would slow me down, so I parked it and walked.”

  Abby moved to put the sun at her back. She looked up, wanting to see Jack’s face, more exactly his expression, when he answered her next question. “You were in that much of a hurry to find me?”

  “Damn right.”

  Satisfied, she gave an inch. “That’s awfully nice of you.”

  “Nice, hell.” Jack slipped on his sunglasses. “I was already late. I didn’t dare give that Irish temper of yours time to build a bigger case against me.”

  “Irish? What makes you think I’m Irish?” Abby defied his slow head-to-toe appraisal.

  Jack shrugged. “Must be the hair.”

  She self-consciously touched a long auburn lock. “A lot of people who aren’t Irish have red hair.”

  Jack started to walk through the maze of people. “Name one,” he challenged, working his way toward the sidewalk.

  Falling easily into step, she shot back, “Howdy Doody.”

  Jack shook his head. “Doesn’t count. He’s made of wood.”

  As he maneuvered around two dangerously rambunctious preschoolers with noticeably melting, chocolate ice cream cones and a very pregnant mother, Abby smiled before deciding on her second choice. “Bozo the Clown.”

  Jack shook his head. “No way.”

  “Don’t be so picky,” she griped.

  “Hey, his clown hair is literally attached to rubber scalp.”

  Laughing at the visual, she gave in. “Okay, then how about everybody’s favorite redhead, Lucy?”

  Before he could speak, she qualified, “You said name one. Technically, I named three. And there’s not an Irishman among them.”

  Jack stopped and stepped closer. He took off his sunglasses, once again sliding one bow down the neck of his sweater. “Irish or not, your hair is beautiful.” He wound a long curl around his finger as he spoke.

  Something about the soft expression in Jack’s eyes matched the gentleness of his touch. Abby suddenly felt delicate and cherished — two ungodly personal feelings, considering she’d known the man less than twenty-four hours.

  “Where to now?” Abby asked, determined to get things back on track. One minute Jack was serious, and the next he was sexy. Not to mention this desire-thing that seemed to ebb and flow so easily between them. If nothing else, Abby knew she had to get a grip.

  Jack checked his watch. “Unless you’re hungry, we’ve got some time before lunch.”

  “Lunch? What happened to breakfast?” She poked him in the ribs with her elbow before she could catch herself.

  He circled her. “I don’t know, at first I thought it was the hair that made you sassy, but maybe it’s heredity.”

  “You don’t know a thing about my ancestry.”

  “Maybe not, but I know where heredity comes from.” He gave her backside a quick look. “It’s in the genes.”

  Abby groaned. “And this from a man with a law degree. That has to be illegal.”

  “Call a cop.”

  She shoved both hands in her pockets and increased the length of her strides. “You’re criminal.”

  “You’re gorgeous.”

  Abby couldn’t even spell g-r-i-p right now, let alone get one. What she could do was file away his compliment and ask the one question that had been on her mind since yesterday. “I was just wondering. Have we met before?”

  “No. Why do you ask?” As they walked, Jack eased Abby’s hand out of her pocket.

  “It’s just — ” she shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not sure.” Strangely comforted by the gentle swing of their interlaced fingers, Abby couldn’t help but notice the warm buzz she felt every time their skin touched. “Actually, I started to say that you look familiar, but it’s not even that.”

  “What then?”

  “I really don’t know.” Abby wished she had never brought up the subject. Right about now, she felt a little silly. Like earlier this morning in her room at the inn. Non-existent lights. Cold drafts from nowhere. Talk about stress induced anxiety.

  “Well, do I remind you of someone you know?” he coaxed.

  Matching his long strides, she looked up and studied his profile. Not remember a face like his? Fat chance. “Nope. I don’t think so.”

  “How about someone you knew? Not recently, but in the past?”

  “That’s probably it.” Apparently Jack wasn’t going to give up and for some reason Abby needed a plausible link to explain their undeniable connection. Besides, his theory worked well enough for now. She had met countless customers and dealt
with too many businessmen and sales reps over the last few years to count. Jack probably just reminded her of a prior acquaintance. That had to be it. So, why was she hearing the word think repeated over and over again in her head?

  Like a one-two punch, a dog barked, and a cat hissed from nearby doorstep. Startled, Abby blurted, “Don’t you feel it?”

  “The familiarity?”

  “Yes.” The word escaped faster than a convicted felon — until a tourist let out a blood-curdling whistle that split the air between them like an ax. From behind a man raced past, coattails flapping, until he finally hailed a cab about two blocks further down the street.

  Totally embarrassed, and at the same time relieved by the interruption, Abby immediately dropped talk of their kindred spirits like false charges. Whatever the two of them were feeling had to be hormones, plain and simple. There just wasn’t any other explanation. She looked around. “Where are we headed now?”

  “About what you said — ”

  Her head snapped up when he insisted on reopening the topic.

  “I think some people just hit it off, that’s all.”

  “Right,” Abby agreed, a little too quickly. Her fingers slipped between his like the pieces of a puzzle.

  “You never answered before. Are you hungry?”

  She thought a moment. “I could eat.”

  Jack ushered her through the afternoon traffic to the colorful vendor across the street. He ordered without asking her, but Abby let it slide. Noting how the sky had clouded up, she pointed out an empty table beneath a huge multi-colored umbrella. Nestled between two gorgeous crimson maples, the view was perfect. She held up her sandwich. “You’re lucky I like this.”

  He rested both elbows on the brightly striped, plastic tablecloth. “I guess I never met anyone who didn’t like a chili dog.”

  As the dark clouds grew darker, she sipped her drink, unwilling to say more about how familiar Jack seemed. “Ummm. This does taste like heaven. Do you know how long it’s been since I had a black cow?”