Oberon Boxed Set (Books 1-3) Welcome to Oberon

by P. G. Forte

  Just look at that business with the restraining order. She’d come to see him practically vibrating with anger; all ready to file against her former fiancé. File? Shit, as mad as she was, it’d been a wonder she hadn’t just gotten hold of a gun, shot first and then asked questions. Whatever Bob had done to piss her off, it had certainly worked. But whatever he’d done, it didn’t seem likely that anyone’d ever know. It had been her reluctance to fill out a complaint—to disclose what she considered to be her private business—that had finally changed her mind.

  Driving home now, Nick thought about the sudden gleam of interest he’d seen in Ryan’s eyes when he’d told him what little he knew about that scenario. Hard as it was for him to picture a priest in the role of stalker, it was even harder to believe that something like that could have been going on for ten years without anyone’s having known about it. Still, it wasn’t the strangest thing he’d ever heard of, either. And as he reminded himself one more time: you almost never did know anyone, even half as well as you thought you did.

  He tossed out his cigarette when he was still a couple of blocks from the house. Then he shoved a stick of gum into his mouth and rolled down his window, hoping the wind and the rain would clear some of the scent from his clothes and skin. He was cold and damp, but probably no less redolent of smoke by the time he pulled into the drive. He killed the engine and sat for a long moment looking at the hulking, old Victorian in front of him. Scout’s house. He wondered if he would ever come to think of it as home. He sure hoped so, since he seriously doubted whether he could ever persuade her to give it up.

  Scout greeted him as soon as he came through the door, sliding her arms around his neck and kissing him as she always had. As though he were some delicious new delicacy and she couldn’t resist sampling the taste of him. After all this time it still made his head spin. He pulled her closer, resting his hands where her waist used to be. As he kissed her back he could feel his baby moving inside her. He was struck once again with how lucky he was and how dangerously close to perfect his life had become. Dangerous because he suddenly had so much more to lose than ever before. When at last she pulled away, he could tell by the look in her eyes that the gum hadn’t fooled her for an instant. But she was smiling, so he didn’t really care.

  “Well, it’s about time you got home,” she teased. “Hurry up and fix dinner, would ya, please? We’re starving here!”

  Nick smiled. He’d had to listen to his mother’s opinion of Scout’s inability to cook again today, too. But the truth was, he hoped she never learned to cook. It was just about the only thing she depended on him for, after all, and he had no desire to give that up. His smile faded as her words sank in.

  “Wait a minute. Who’s we?” The last thing he felt like facing tonight was company.

  She smiled as she pressed his hands against her belly; their baby pressed back. “This is we. Us. My stomach’s growling and I think it’s keeping him awake.”

  Thank God, it was just them tonight. His hands tightened on her as relief flooded through him, along with another warm, rippling wave of contentment. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and herded her towards the kitchen, passing the entrance to the living room along the way. He’d taken a few steps past the doorway before it hit him. The painting was gone. He turned back for another look. Sure enough. Surprise replaced the relief he’d been feeling a moment earlier. “What’d you do with it?” he asked.

  Her eyebrows rose. “The painting? Boy, you don’t miss much, do you?” Her eyes were sparkling as she continued. “Okay, this has got to be one of my most brilliant ideas. Seriously, Nick, tell me what you think. I sent it to Adam. He’s gonna hang it at the winery.”

  In less time than it took him to blink, rage replaced the surprise. It wasn’t the money. He was sure it wasn’t the money that had him so upset. But as he bent every last ounce of will power toward controlling his temper, that was just about the only thing he was sure of. “So, you... you just gave him the painting?” he asked at last, and despite all his efforts, his voice still came out sounding hoarse. She’d paid a fortune for it because it was so important to her. She’d left it cluttering up their living room for weeks while she considered the perfect placement of it. And now—?

  She looked at him in surprise. “Well, no. I didn’t give it to him. I just... well, it’s so big, you know? Bigger than I’d remembered, actually. Once I got it in the house, I didn’t know where to put it. And it is his mother, after all, so I thought...” Her brows drew together as she watched him. “You didn’t want to keep it here, did you?”

  He faked a casual shrug. “No, of course not. I don’t really care, either way. I was just... surprised.”

  “Nick? Are you sure about this?” She continued to frown at him, uncertainly. “What’s wrong?”

  “Wrong? Don’t be silly. Nothing’s wrong,” he said, even managing a small smile. “Everything’s just fine. Now, come on, avanti. Let’s see about getting you some dinner, huh?” As they started back toward the kitchen again, he could only wonder why she’d even bothered asking. Since it obviously didn’t matter to her what he thought. Not about this, certainly. Maybe not about anything.

  Back to Top

  * * * *

  Chapter Twenty Three

  * * * *

  Ryan was waiting for Marsha when she arrived at The Crone’s Nest Tuesday morning. Parked across the street in his jeep, he watched as her van pulled into the teashop’s parking lot. As he opened the jeep’s door to step outside, the fog slid up to greet him, touching his face with soft, ghostly fingers. A shiver ran through him. He took one last drag from his cigarette then tossed it to the curb.

  The teashop was warm – bright, cozy and fragrant – but he had no time to waste this morning, enjoying the ambiance. He caught up with her just inside the door, and grabbed her by the arm. “Hey, Marsha, you got a minute? I need to ask you about something.”

  “Oh! Ryan. Hi.” As she turned to look at him, an expression of faint alarm on her freckled face, he was once again struck by how little the two sisters resembled each other. What did the rest of the family look like? Marsha’s hair was lighter, more copper brown than red, and her eyes were a clear, witchy green – he found he had trouble meeting them. Whereas Siobhan’s were like an endless ocean; sometimes troubled, sometimes calm, but he could lose himself within their depths forever.

  A frown crinkled Marsha’s forehead, she cocked her head to the side. “This doesn’t sound very official. Is it about Siobhan? She’s okay, isn’t she?”

  His wandering thoughts snapped back to the present. He dropped his hand from her arm and pulled away. Shit. He was so used to people looking nervous or worried when he showed up that he hardly noticed anymore. He’d been getting that reaction since the first day he’d put on a uniform, after all. But damn it, he’d forgotten her reputation as a psychic.

  “Yeah, she’s fine,” he said as he clamped down hard on his thoughts, hoping she hadn’t already read his mind. She’s fine and I plan on keeping her that way.

  She nodded slowly, and then she turned to one of the young women behind the counter. “Tina, bring us a pot of tea, please... the lavender-eyebright combo, I think.” She glanced once more in his direction and he saw her lips twitch. For just an instant laughter sparkled in her eyes. “And, uh... maybe toss a pinch of lobelia in there, too, while you’re at it.”

  She led him to a small table in the back of the shop, past display cases filed with crystals and jewelry, wands and candles and knives, silver cups and iron cauldrons. Tall shelves, loaded with books and rows of glass jars, loomed over them. A sweet, green, vaguely woodsy scent hung in the air – stronger here than it had been in the front of the store. It stirred a distant longing within him, but the memory it evoked was too elusive to track.

  “So, what can I do for you?” she asked, after they were seated. He hesitated. He wasn’t altogether happy about being here. It struck him that he knew very little about her relationship with her
sister. He wasn’t at all certain that she wouldn’t go running right back to Siobhan to report their conversation.

  “Well, I just thought you might know—” He stopped again. Still not sure exactly how to phrase the question. If this were an official investigation, he’d know just what to say. But as it was, he was on virgin territory. “I mean... I was thinking maybe you could tell me if—” He broke off when the tea arrived and waited impatiently as she poured out two cups. He hadn’t been in the mood for tea, but he drank it anyway, suppressing a grimace at the odd flavor.

  Marsha sipped her own tea while he continued to debate with himself. She sat and waited, saying nothing at all, and he found himself growing annoyed. Nick had warned him about her. Said she’d likely learn more from him than the other way around. With or without words. But they’d both agreed he had no other choice. It seemed that, while Siobhan had plenty of acquaintances, she’d made few real friends in the ten years since she’d returned to Oberon following her family’s deaths. So, like it or not, her sister was probably his best bet for information. “Look, how well do you know any of the people in your sister’s life?” he asked, at last.

  Marsha shook her head. “Siobhan doesn’t have a lot of people in her life, Ryan. She’s a very private person, if you hadn’t noticed. She always has been. And, since she’s been back in Oberon, she hasn’t really let anyone get too close. Actually, I thought that maybe you and she—” She stopped suddenly and color flared in her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I guess that’s really none of my business, is it?”

  As she picked up her cup again, Ryan took a deep breath and tried hard to suppress the treacherous warmth that had spread like wildfire through his chest. She didn’t let people get close to her, but she’d let him. He fought down the impulse to bask in that warmth, in the knowledge of what that might mean, and forced himself to focus once again on Marsha. “Look, what I really need to know is... do you know of anyone who might have a grudge against her?”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “A grudge? Against Siobhan? What kind of grudge?”

  “Well, I don’t know, Marsha,” he answered, irritably. “That’s part of why I’m asking.” She continued to stare at him questioningly, but she said nothing more. He realized he’d been fooling himself, thinking it would be that easy. This was not a situation where he could threaten, or demand answers. This situation required a little quid pro quo – something he was not always comfortable about providing.

  He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table and fixing her with a steady gaze. “Okay, look, there’s been a series of... I don’t know... pranks, I guess maybe you’d call them,” he said carefully, hoping the qualification would satisfy her. “But they’re getting a little dangerous now, and I’d just like to find out who’s behind them, before it goes any further.”

  Her fingers toyed with the handle of her teacup, but her eyes gave away nothing. “What kind of pranks?”

  “Well, like killing off all the fish in her tank, for one thing.”

  “That doesn’t exactly sound like a prank,” she observed. She looked alarmed, which was exactly what he hadn’t wanted.

  “Well, I have no reason to think they’re anything else,” he answered, turning the focus right back on her. “Do you?”

  She studied him in silence. “You’re thinking this is someone who works for her?” she asked, after a moment. “Someone who wants to cause trouble for the center?”

  He shrugged. “Possibly. But it could be anybody, really. She never locks the damn door, you know. It’s not like it would be hard for anyone to get in there.”

  “No, that’s true.”

  He watched as she thought about it, her eyes going wide, out of focus and dark. For a long time she said nothing.

  “No, Ryan,” she said at last, but her face appeared troubled. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t see it. I don’t know of anyone who’d want to hurt her that way. Not now, at least. Maybe in the past there would have been, but... no,” she frowned suddenly, and for a moment she looked even more alarmed. “No, that can’t be right. There must be some mistake.”

  “Oh, there’s been a mistake, all right!” His temper flared as he thought about it. Someone had made a very big mistake, thinking that he or she could hurt the woman he loved and get away with it. As soon as he realized where his thoughts had wandered, he quickly roped them in again and shoved them deep inside.

  He glanced quickly at her face. How much did she know? Her hand shook slightly as she sipped her tea, but she didn’t return his gaze. “You’re sure you can’t tell me anything else?” he asked.

  She took her time answering. Once again her eyes grew dark and wide, but in the end she just sighed, and shook her head. “Sorry. Whatever’s going on, I can’t get a clear picture, right now. There’s a little too much... static, I’m afraid.” A faint smile creased her face. “If I figure anything out, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, though, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to check out some of the people who work there. But it’s possible someone’s just being careless. It does happen, you know.”

  “Mm.” He swallowed the last of his tea and got to his feet. No need to mention that he’d already run background checks on all the volunteers he’d met over the past few weeks. So far, he’d come up with bupkus. But there’d been literally dozens of volunteers who’d gone through there in the last ten years. Checking up on all of them would take longer than he wanted to think about. Longer than he liked. Maybe longer than he could afford for it to take.

  This was getting him nowhere, he thought as he thanked Marsha for the tea and headed for the door. Doubt, and a new sense of urgency assailed him. Nick had been right. Siobhan would hate this. And it probably wouldn’t be too long before she found out about it, either. If he had the answers he was looking for by then maybe it wouldn’t matter so much. If he solved her problem for her – she’d have to be at least a little happy about that, wouldn’t she? But he’d have to figure things out soon.

  Before she found out what he was doing. And before anything else went wrong.

  * * * *

  Marsha sat alone at the table after Ryan left. Guess it’s true what they say, she thought. When it rains it pours. Now, instead of one man acting strangely, she had four of them to think about. If she could count two thirteen year olds as men. She sipped her tea. Even a pinch of lobelia left a strange taste in the brew. But if she’d read his aura right, Ryan needed a little help to stop smoking. Not that he’d ever figure out what she’d been up to, of course. And the eyebright... ah, well, maybe she should have gone for the mugwort, after all. She’d gotten almost nothing from his thoughts. He’d purposely closed himself off from her.

  Just like Sam.

  It was one of the hardest parts of being psychic. She could understand the need for privacy. She knew all about the fear – that she would read things better left unread. But what no one seemed to realize was how their tension communicated itself to her. Not like a blank wall that hid their thoughts, more like a fist in her gut.

  These last few days, she’d felt herself increasingly battered.

  Her heart constricted as her thoughts returned to Sam once more. He hadn’t even stayed to dinner last night. And she didn’t have to be a psychic to notice the way he’d avoided making eye contact with her. Even the boys had seemed affected by the change in the atmosphere. They’d barely picked at their food and then they’d hurried off to bed, without even needing a reminder. First the boys... and then Sam, and now Ryan. Closing themselves off from her. Distancing themselves. Shutting her out.

  Oh, Sam. Tears pricked her eyes and she hastily blinked them back. She wouldn’t cry. She would not feel sorry for herself. It had been good while it lasted – it was still good – but she had always known the day would come when she’d have to say good-bye.

  She just thought she’d get a little more time, that’s all.

  Everything works out for the best, eventually. How many times had she said that? And even though sometimes it
was hard to see how that could ever be the case, she had to keep believing it was true. It was a slim hope and a bitter truth, but it was all she had to cling to at the moment.

  She wouldn’t beg. She wouldn’t try again to hold someone who didn’t want her. And no matter how much it hurt, no matter how badly she wanted to know what had gone wrong, she would not ask him. Some questions had no answers, anyway.

  Hoping for a distraction, she picked up Ryan’s cup and peeked inside. It was not the proper way to read it, of course – without either spinning or draining it – and without knowing his intent. But it still might tell her something. She let her mind go blank while the images took shape. It was a very busy cup. There was a flag, the symbol for wounds received in battle. And a camel, suggesting a burden and the need for patience. And a shark. She shivered as she recognized the sign that indicated approaching death. She’d seen a shark in a teacup last September, too.

  She tried to steady her breathing. Tried to calm her mind, and look beyond the fear. A cat. A dog. A razor. Not much better. A harp. Success in love or marriage. Or... she squinted and looked closer. Perhaps it wasn’t a harp. It could be the glyph for Gemini. And next to that, an acorn.

  Gemini. The twins. Her eyes widened as she considered the matter. Interesting, she thought. Very, interesting indeed.

  * * * *

  “Lucy!” Dan’s voice exploded through the door of the shed an instant before the rest of him did. He slammed the door shut behind him and the entire building shuddered. “What in God’s name are you not telling me now?”

  Lucy took a deep, steadying breath and then reluctantly transferred her gaze from the extractor’s control panel, to her husband’s face. He looked pretty mad. She raised an eyebrow at him. “Is there a problem, Cavanaugh?”