Magic & Mayhem

by Susan Conley

  Thinking back, she had to admit the evening had been wonderful. Except for her unexplainable knowledge of witchcraft and her unreasonably strong response, again, to that Bishop woman. In fact, just the mention of her name made Abby’s skin crawl. The magnitude of her reaction bewildered Abby.

  He pulled up in front of the inn and cut the engine.

  “I had a nice time, Jack.” Brown eyes captured green.

  “So did I.”

  Abby immediately recognized what was going to happen. Bound to happen. Had to happen. It was exactly what she’d been anticipating. For so long? Time stood still as Jack lowered his head. His eyes closed. Hers did not. For some reason, her need to see was too great. It felt like she had been waiting her whole life for this moment, and she had to make certain this was real. Not a dream.

  Abby’s heart fluttered expectantly against her ribs. As if she ended every evening like this, both arms circled Jack’s neck in a familiar, easy way. She sighed, leaning into his broad, muscular chest. Lips touched. Barely. Like some warm, soft secret shared between lovers.

  “Good night,” Abby whispered, their lips little more than a breath apart. Whatever had just happened, she needed time to think about the kiss as well as her reaction to this Bishop woman. And she couldn’t seem to do either right now. Not around Jack. She got out of the car before he had a chance to say one word. “Thanks for dinner.”

  “My pleasure.” He buzzed her window down, reached across the seat and yanked her door shut. Still leaning, he looked up at her and smiled. “I’ll be tied up first thing tomorrow — how about if I call you after lunch?”

  “I had planned to rent a car in the morning and take a drive, so that works perfectly for me.” She prayed her cape concealed her knocking knees. “Why don’t you make it about two.”

  “Okay, but don’t rent a car.” He angled his head. “I’ll drop off this one and leave the keys at the front desk.”

  “Oh, no. I couldn’t — ”

  “I insist.” He winked. “And don’t rush back. If you’re not there when I call, I’ll just leave a message.”

  “Thanks. That would be great.”

  After he drove away, Abby’s shaky legs gave way, and she collapsed onto a wooden bench in front of the inn. The sky was as black as indigo velvet and sprinkled with thousands of sparkling diamonds. A refreshing breeze sneaked beneath her cape, forcing her to pull it closer. Several couples passed hand-in-hand. Their muffled words and quiet laughter echoed in darkness. Abby had never felt quite so alone.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Salem, Massachusetts

  15 October

  Year of Our Lord, 1692

  The night sky is dark, except for a brilliant, moon. A cool, fresh breeze billows through the carriage, caressing Abigail’s skin, reminding her of the beautiful afternoon she spent with her beloved. They had met in the woods, surrounded by pine trees and the earthy fragrance of autumn.

  Even now, thoughts of him warmed her cheeks. So tall. And handsome. So caring. She cradled the beautiful bouquet of burgundy mums in her arms like a babe.

  Exhilaration coursed through her veins at the thought of becoming his wife. That’s what today had been about, although she had not known. He had arranged a lovely picnic, supposedly for her birthday. Fresh flowers and red wine. Seated beneath the most beautiful crimson maple she had ever seen, he had sketched her picture, then promised to paint her portrait as a wedding present. Before she could catch her breath, he had called her “love” and eloquently proposed on bended knee. He confided already having asked her father for her hand and having been given his blessing.

  Suddenly, the coach lurched, and the horses take off at break neck speed. Abigail cries out for help, and when no one answers, she struggles to her feet. Anchoring her bonnet, she shoves her head out the window. The driver is gone, and the bluffs are straight ahead.

  • • •

  Unable to sleep, Abby awoke early, showered and dressed. She slid behind the wheel of Jack’s silver BMW convertible and slammed the door. After having another dream last night, she was still trying to come to grips with the eerie sensation tweaking her consciousness. The very thought challenged her psyche, not to mention literally threatening her peace of mind.

  Thinking through the details now that it was daylight, she understood the reference to burgundy mums. After all, they were her favorite flowers. As for the beautiful autumn setting — well, it was October in Salem. Can’t get much better than that. And the handsome man? Well, there was a no-brainer.

  “But the runaway coach,” she muttered. “Now that’s a real head-scratcher.”

  And, if having nightmares every night wasn’t enough, there was this Hawthorne person. The dashing man in her dream? Why not? Why the bloody hell not! One minute he had her laughing; the next he made her pulse race. That said, neither of which were her major concern. What really bothered Abby was the unexplainable intensity of her feelings. So strong. So fast. So right? And so not like her. Trying to come to terms with such uncharacteristically strong emotions was the real crux of her problem.

  Unlike yesterday morning, Abby tried to relax and simply focus on the scenery and the beautiful fall colors. The winding road cut through lovely neighborhoods that really got into the spirit when it came to decorating for autumn in general and Halloween in particular. On every street, there were pumpkin-lined porches. Doors dressed in crimson and orange wreaths. Yards costumed in bales of hay that hosted gourds, ghouls and ghosts in all shapes and sizes.

  Unfortunately for Abby, all of the celebratory decorations Boston had to offer could not find a detour past the mental roadblock set up by her dreams. Scenes from the nightmare continued to flash through her mind. Relentless. Unsettling. Distracting.

  It didn’t take Abby long to realize that no matter how hard she tried, her heart just wasn’t into sightseeing. Not today anyway. Or, maybe just not by herself. Or … well, she just didn’t know. Something was out of kilter, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. So rather than continue her drive, she decided to sort things out over a warm, cinnamon-spiced latte. She remembered seeing a quaint little café yesterday. If she could just find it again. Heading down a steep hill, she rounded a sharp curve a little too fast.

  Abby eased her foot on the brake.

  Nothing happened.

  She tapped it again.

  The car wasn’t slowing down.

  This time she stomped the pedal.

  Again nothing. But it was picking up momentum — and fast.

  Abby pumped the pedal.

  Still nothing. But gaining speed.

  This time as she slammed her foot down hard, the brake went straight to the floorboard without resistance.

  Nothing!

  “Oh, God!” she heard herself say.

  The car was still accelerating. Abby’s heart pounded against her ribs. Her breath came in short, hard gulps.

  “Think, dammit!” she screamed.

  Grabbing wildly for the emergency brake, her knuckles scraped relentlessly under the dash in a futile effort to stop. She fought to maintain control, swerving to avoid hitting an oncoming car. Somewhere nearby a horn blared and tires squalled.

  Coming up fast on the rear end of a car, she jerked the wheel to pass but came face-to-face with a pickup truck. With nowhere to go she yanked the car back into her own lane and veered off to the right to keep from hitting the car in front of her.

  A brick building loomed up before her eyes. She frantically laid on the horn, praying to God no one else would be hurt.

  There was an explosive sound right before she heard a sickening thud. Then for a long moment everything was quiet. Why was her head pounding? Red-hot pain shot through her wrist. She struggled to get up, but the glass … there were jagged chards everywhere. There was something warm running down her arm. B
lood! Lots of blood. What had happened? Had someone been hurt?

  Faces loomed, seemingly from nowhere. Who were these people? Her eyes wouldn’t focus. If only she could think, but her head felt like it was splitting. Voices. What were they saying? Why couldn’t she make sense of this? Hands reached out. Panic set in.

  “Don’t touch me,” Abby whimpered, fighting the sensation of overwhelming dizziness. Had her nightmare come true?

  Like the cool October breeze innocently sweeping through the shattered windshield before moving on, she surrendered to the soothing, comforting darkness that beckoned.

  • • •

  Jack sat in his office, staring at his computer screen. He’d intended to take care of some work, but hadn’t really accomplished much all morning. The shrill ringing of the phone sliced through his thoughts. “Hello.”

  He paused.

  “Yes, this is Jack Hawthorne.”

  He listened.

  “She what?” he shouted, impatient for information. His hands clenched into tight fists as he tried to comprehend the methodical voice from the emergency room.

  “I’ll be right there,” he growled, cutting the caller off in mid-sentence.

  He slammed down the phone and raced past Maxine without explanation, nearly tearing the door off its hinges. Barely behind the wheel, the Jeep’s tires smoked as Jack screamed out of his parking space. The car lurched forward before he even yanked shut his gaping door. Jaw set. Eyes glued to the road. Accelerator to the floor. Jack rounded the first curve practically on two wheels. His thoughts ricocheted.

  Darting in and out of lanes, horns blasted as Jack bullied his way through traffic. He recklessly took each corner at an increasing rate of speed, feeling the pull of the Jeep in direct proportion to the turn of the steering wheel. He jockeyed to maintain his position in the seat. Knowing he should slow down, but unable to push away his fears, Jack pressed his luck to the limit.

  Abby had wrecked his BMW. Not just wrecked — totaled. Why the hell had he bought such a small car? No damn protection. His gut tied in a hard knot. He racked his brain to remember what the woman from the hospital had said. Abrasions? Head injuries? Dammit, he just wasn’t sure.

  The fortuneteller had predicted danger, and Jack had laughed off her warning. His mouth went dry. Why Abby had become so important to him, Jack didn’t have a clue. Didn’t need one. She was, and that’s all that counted. From this moment on, he would make sure nothing bad happened to her. Absolutely nothing.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “I only gave you Mr. Hawthorne’s name because I thought you might need some sort of, I don’t know, credit reference or something. Not so you could call him.” Abby gingerly touched both temples with the pads of her fingers and braced herself before continuing. “I’m perfectly capable of leaving on my own,” she told the doctor, all the while trying to steady herself enough to sit up.

  The tall, blond man waited patiently as she spoke. He laid a large hand on her shoulder and eased her back down on the examining table. “Are you finished?” he asked quietly.

  Properly but nicely reprimanded, Abby nodded, then winced. Her head was pounding like a bass drum on Super Bowl Sunday.

  “You sustained a scalp laceration that looked much worse than it was. That’s where all the blood came from. You also have a bump on your head that would make Mother Goose proud, not to mention a badly sprained wrist. You’re not going anywhere by yourself. Either Mr. Hawthorne keeps an eye on you, or I’m admitting you for observation,” the doctor told her firmly.

  “But, I — ”

  “No buts.” He draped the stethoscope around the back of his neck allowing both ends to dangle on his chest. “When Mr. Hawthorne gets here, you’re free to go,” he insisted, brushing Abby’s hair back off her forehead. “You’re lucky these stitches are right at your hairline. They’ll never show.” He smiled warmly. “Relax. You’re going to be just fine.”

  At that moment, Abby along with half the hospital staff and most of the first floor heard Jack’s voice.

  Storming through the doorway, he demanded, “What the hell happened?”

  Jacket gaping, necktie over one shoulder, his presence filled the room. He wasn’t the type to lose his cool, so the angry look on his face confused Abby.

  “Oh, I’m feeling fine, thanks,” she muttered. “If it’s the car you’re worried about, it looks worse than I do.” Feeling tears well up, she turned her head and faced the wall.

  “It’s insured.” Jack turned to the doctor. “How is she?”

  Extending his hand, the doctor explained, “Still pretty shaken up. She’s not quite herself. She’s not to sleep soundly for the next several hours, so keep an eye on her.”

  “Okay, Doc.”

  “The nurse will bring in her prescription.”

  “Don’t talk about me like I’m not in the room,” Abby snapped, despite the fact it made her head throb.

  The M.D. lowered his voice considerably, “She’s still in shock, but she’ll be fine. Just stay with her throughout the evening. Any changes and I want to know immediately.”

  “Thanks for calling me,” Jack said, shaking the other man’s hand.

  The doctor inclined his head in Abby’s direction. “Believe me, it wasn’t easy.”

  As the door closed, Jack took a deep breath. He lowered his head to her ear, urging in a low, quiet voice, “Abby. Try not to sleep.”

  Her eyes fluttered open for a second, then slammed shut. “I’m not asleep,” she whispered. Squinting, she tried to look up. Placing her free hand against his smooth, warm cheek, she responded to his tenderness. “My head hurts so badly, and that bright light makes it worse.”

  He flipped off the overhead fixture. “Better?” he asked quietly.

  As her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, his concern moved her. Humorless, dark eyes dominated his features. Brows knitted together. The unusually hard line of his mouth. “Much better, thanks,” she told him softly.

  Aside from the pain, something deep inside violently tugged her heart. The fortuneteller had warned her not to wear the necklace. She’d said Abby did not belong here. Right now, looking at Jack, Abby could feel the corners of her mouth curve slightly at the thought. I must be delirious, she decided. That’s what’s causing these ridiculous thoughts. Kind of like falling in love with your doctor. Maybe illusions. Or delusions? Conclusions?

  Jack’s warm smile temporarily smoothed away the worry lines at the corners of his mouth, giving it that soft, kissable look. “You find something about this amusing?”

  He laced his fingers through hers. “No.”

  Abby squeezed his hand.

  The door swung open and a perky, dark-haired nurse bustled in, then stopped dead in her tracks. She reached for the light switch.

  “Leave it off.” Jack’s curt words halted her hand in midair. “It hurts her eyes.”

  “Okay,” she agreed, slipping momentarily back into the hallway before returning with a wheelchair. She carefully helped Abby off the examining table.

  “Where’s your coat?” she asked, easing Abby down.

  Abby thought a moment. “I remember tossing it in the back seat of the car this morning. I guess it’s still there.” Jack immediately stripped off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. It was still warm. She absorbed his body heat and caught the familiar, clean smell of his soap. “Thanks.”

  After a quick trip down the corridor and through the lobby the nurse handed Abby’s prescription to Jack.

  “I’ll take it from here.”

  He had parked right by the door, so he helped Abby out of the wheelchair and into his Jeep.

  “Take it easy,” he crooned, slipping behind the wheel. “Everything’s going to be fine.” Buckling Abby’s seat belt for her, he asked in a low soothing voice, “Trust
me?”

  She felt her bottom lip tremble at the simple question. “Yes.” And she did.

  Jack started the car. “Any dizziness?”

  “No.”

  “Sick at your stomach?”

  Abby relaxed a bit and managed a shaky grin. “Don’t worry, Doc. Your seat covers are safe with me.”

  Returning her smile, he pulled out.

  She settled back. Thank God the painkillers had finally kicked in. She was beginning to feel almost human again.

  As they drove, brightly illuminated billboards promoting the annual Halloween Ball loomed up ominously at every turn. A brilliant harvest moon. Torch carrying pilgrims. Witches on brooms. Heart pounding, Abby closed her eyes. Why were these images every bit as familiar as they were disturbing? Typical Halloween dogma? Fragments of a similar gala? Incarnations flashed through her mind. Her memory? Ghoulish bits and pieces. Frightening glimpses. She tried to think — remember — but couldn’t.

  “Feeling any better?”

  Abby started, her lashes flew open. “I’m okay,” she lied. What else was there to say? I’m just fine and dandy unless having flashbacks of witches and torches and angry mobs makes me crazy? Of course for some bizarre reason these actually feel like memories, not just Halloween hysteria. That’s right, Jack, I’m apparently certifiable. The accident pushed me right over the edge and caused me to lose my ever-loving mind.

  “Are you sure?”

  Abby laid her hand on his arm, more for her own reassurance than his. His well-muscled bicep felt warm and real beneath his crisp, white dress shirt. “Really, Jack, I’m fine.”

  Jack made one stop at the pharmacy before driving across town. Pulling in next to a beautifully built brick home, Jack parked the car and turned to face her.