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

by P. G. Forte

  “What the hell?”

  Too late. She ran her fingers through the powdery dust. It was gone. All gone. All... oh, no. Oh, no, no, not... not all of it? Surely, not all of it gone?

  Oh, jeez. The basket.

  Vaguely, she remembered having scooped things up off the floor when Ryan had returned. She lunged for the basket and another cry emerged from her lips as she examined its contents. What had she done?

  Everything that had been burned, and everything that remained in the basket now, had come from the box of mementos she kept in the bottom of her armoire.

  And what remained in the basket was so very little...

  This time, when Ryan crouched beside her and reached for her, Siobhan did not hesitate or pull away. She launched herself into his arms, knocking him backwards as she clutched at him.

  Fresh tears poured down her face. And every tear that fell, each sob that clawed its way out of her chest and up her throat, felt like another piece of her soul being ripped away.

  She felt his arms close around her as he hauled her into his lap, holding her there, rocking her as he would a child. She couldn’t hear the words he murmured, and it didn’t matter anyway. Nothing mattered, anymore. The question of whether he loved her or not was moot now. Now that she knew she’d never really be free to love him back.

  She’d thought she was getting better. She’d thought she was almost cured. She’d really believed, for the first time in a decade, that she was close to being healed. That the love she’d finally allowed herself to feel was bright enough to save her from herself; to light away the darkness that had laid claim to her mind.

  Now she knew how wrong she’d been.

  She would never be entirely free of the past, would she? Or the guilt. Or the pain that had nearly destroyed her.

  She would never find peace, or joy, or love... or even warmth, ever again.

  Her tears fell harder, and she wept, not for the loss of her daughters, or all the treasured keepsakes that had been destroyed; but for the loss of all her dreams, and all her hopes for the future.

  * * * *

  Ryan held Siobhan close against his heart. He rocked her and he stroked her hair. He did everything he could think of to comfort her. And when he felt the panic hit, he gritted his teeth against the urge to run for the door and hugged her tighter. And when the voices in his head started to scream that she’d drown him with her need, that her grief would pull them both under, he told them all to go to hell.

  He was tired this morning, hurt and confused, but he wasn’t leaving. He could handle this. What was the big deal, really? He’d just sit tight until he figured out what the hell was going on. And then?

  Well, then he’d figure that out, too. One step at a time.

  He rested his cheek against her hair as he rocked them back and forth. She needed him. It wasn’t love, or anything like it, but maybe it could be a start. Maybe if he could learn to be the man she needed him to be, then maybe she could learn to love him in return.

  And if they could do that, if he could make that happen, then this would all be worth it.

  “Shh,” he murmured. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” But what exactly was ‘it’ anyway?

  Lifting his head again, he looked around the room. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Well, other than the smell. And not that burning your dog’s toys and stuff in the fireplace was ordinary either, but— He took another look in the basket. Funny, they didn’t look like the kind of things you’d give a dog to play with. In fact, they looked more like— oh, shit. She’d been burning her kids’ stuff, too? What the hell was up with that?

  Fury hit him harder than the panic had a moment earlier, tightening his chest to the point where he heard himself wheeze as he fought to catch his breath. That son of a bitch.

  Well, of course she hadn’t been doing it. That game-playing bastard had been in here again. This was his latest prank, that’s all. But this time he’d gone too far. This time... well, at least this time she couldn’t pass it off as an accident, now could she? This was no coincidence, and it sure as hell wasn’t a figment of anyone’s imagination. This time no one could say a crime hadn’t been committed. And this time nobody would argue against the need to find the guy and stop him.

  Siobhan struggled against him, and Ryan realized that his grip had probably become too tight. He tried to loosen it a fraction, but she pushed away from him altogether, sitting up and making ineffectual passes at her eyes and her hair with hands that were still shaking.

  “So, um... gee, that was stupid. I don’t know what came over me,” she said, with a weak laugh.

  He stared at her, almost too surprised to speak, “Hunh?”

  She cleared her throat, but wouldn’t meet his eyes. “You know... I don’t think I’ll be able to get any work done here today Ryan. I think I’ll just put up a closed sign and uh, air the place out. And, I uh, I’m sure you must have a lot of personal stuff to catch up on, too. So, why don’t you take the day off, okay? Or the rest of the week, even. And, you know, we’ve got a holiday weekend coming up, so that’ll be really quiet, too. And it’s not like we’ve got a lot of animals we’re caring for at the moment, or anything, so we hardly need two of us here. And I’m still waiting to hear back from the lab, so I can’t do anything with the tank yet, either, and—”

  “What are you doing?” he asked. But he already knew the answer. She was running away again. But why? And where was the anger she should be feeling over what had been done to her? He was a cop. Something like this... she should be asking for his help right now, not pushing him away.

  Her eyes flickered nervously. “What d’you mean?”

  He felt his own eyes narrow as he frowned at her. Well, hell. Nick was right. She did know more about what was going on than she’d admitted. She wasn’t angry or surprised because... because she’d been lying to him all along. And he’d gone for it, too. Hook, line and sinker. Shit. He’d been away from the job too long. His thought processes had gotten soft, his instincts were way off the mark, and his common sense – well, that was just plain vanished. Of course she knew something about it. She wasn’t stupid!

  “I think it’s about time you told me what’s really going on here, don’t you?”

  “What do you mean?” she repeated, getting to her feet and moving away from him. “Nothing’s going on Ryan. I think that’s my point. It’s just... extremely quiet this time of year and I’d hate to see you wasting your time here, when I’m sure there are plenty of things you could be doing... elsewhere.”

  He got up, too, and followed after her. “Bullshit. Do I look like an idiot to you all of a sudden, Siobhan? You know what I’m talking about. I don’t know what game you’re playing here, but that basket that’s all stuff that belonged to your kids, isn’t it? I think I know you a little better than that, sweetheart. You wouldn’t have been burning any of that stuff last night, not unless you’ve taken leave of your senses. So, yeah, I’d like an explanation. I think you owe me that much.” She looked at him then, and he was stunned by the fear, by the guarded, secretive look that came and went in a flash, leaving her face rigid and her eyes cold.

  “I’m sorry, did I hear you correctly?” she asked, raising one eyebrow. “I owe you an explanation? Why’s that Ryan? Just because I happened to share your bed last night?”

  “Well, no, not-” He faltered to a stop, frowning harder as another piece of the puzzle fell into place. Shit. She knew who it was. That’s why she wasn’t surprised, why she wasn’t angry, why she was lying to him. She not only knew what was going on, she knew who was doing it. And she was protecting the bastard.

  Now, why on earth would she do that, he wondered, in the instant before the answer hit him.

  It hit him harder than the panic, harder than the fury, harder, and more devastating than the bullet that had wrecked his leg. Because she loved the son of a bitch, that’s why she was doing it. It was the only thing he could think of, the only possible explanation for the way she
was behaving, and it hurt worse than anything he could’ve imagined.

  She could love some sick, twisted creep but she couldn’t love him?

  Well, he guessed that pretty much summed up their whole relationship, didn’t it? He was good enough to sleep with. Good enough to lie to. Good enough to clean fish tanks and mop floors for her. But he’d never be good enough to win her heart. No, because she’d already given that to some asshole who got his kicks out of making her cry; to the sadist who was stalking her.

  “Okay, fine, then.” Fine. If that’s the way she wanted to play this. “I’ll see you around, Siobhan.” He caught just one glimpse of her face as he turned and headed for the door; saw surprise mingled with... something else. Relief? Disappointment? He didn’t know and didn’t want to know.

  But if she thought he was just going to go away and forget about this, she could think again. He’d find what was going on, with or without her help. He’d learn what secrets she was hiding. His gut told him she was in danger; and that – lover or not – this guy was out to hurt her. And no matter what she felt about it, no matter how she felt about him or... or about either of them, he was not about to stand by and let that happen.

  And it looked like Nick had been right about something else as well, he thought. However this turned out, it didn’t look like she’d be thanking him for it. Not even if he saved her life.

  Back to Top

  * * * *

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  * * * *

  Marsha glanced around the nearly empty church. The pale interior, a combination of oak and travertine, made a cool, neutral backdrop for the glowing kaleidoscope of energy she could both see and feel as it cascaded around her and through her.

  “Angels to the left of me, Angels to the right,” she quietly chanted the words of the ancient prayer meant to invoke protection. “Above me, below me, before me, behind...”

  As the Mass progressed she became more and more conscious of a familiar feeling of peace and love. It soaked into her soul, washing away the unhappiness that had filled her dreams last night, and dogged her ever since. She opened her mind and her heart to the flow, relaxed her vision and watched as energy rippled outward from the altar where Bob stood. She felt herself embraced by its radiant essence. Yet even as she watched the same thing happen all around her – to all the worshipers present – she could tell that very few of them were even marginally aware of the power enveloping them.

  Well, that was nothing new. One of the mysteries she’d never been able to explain to her own satisfaction was why so many people were only comfortable when their contact with Spirit was limited to very small, very isolated doses. And even more comfortable if they could reduce the contact even further by employing the services of an intermediary. A priest.

  But to be a true priest – in any religion, she suspected – took more than simply being comfortable with a higher level of contact than most people could handle. It took a craving for that contact. A need for it. An overwhelming desire that superseded almost anything else. Otherwise, you were just going through the motions.

  “Then shall You be pleased with due sacrifices, burnt offerings and holocausts on Your altar.” As Bob recited the words of the reading Marsha felt a not unexpected tremor of awareness pass through her. Say what you like about Bob, his was an authentic passion. For that reason alone, she could never truly despise him. Despite the hurt he’d caused Siobhan by breaking their engagement all those years ago, Marsha doubted he really had much choice.

  Visionaries, mystics, artists, madmen – could you really say they’d chosen the paths they found themselves on? Did anyone ever choose either the object or the form of their obsession – be it love, or art, or power?

  It almost seemed as though Siobhan was fated to attract men for whom love would always take second place to obsession. What was it about their energy she found so irresistible? Or was it the other way around? Maybe there was something about her sister that drew such men to her – like moths to a flame.

  Perhaps Bob had done Siobhan a favor by breaking up with her. With that kind of obsession riding him, how emotionally available was he ever going to be in his personal relationships?

  Even Gandhi, from all accounts, had been a terrible parent and probably not much of a husband, either. All those vows of celibacy he was forever making and breaking? Oh, please. That couldn’t have been too much fun for his wife. The man might very well have been a saint, but she’d bet he never once considered how the decisions he made with regard to his sex life might affect anyone else.

  Well, she certainly knew a little something about what that was like, didn’t she? Marsha contemplated her own failed marriage with the same twinge of regret the subject always engendered. Regret tinged with embarrassment. Some psychic she was, when she hadn’t been able to see what had been plain as day to everyone else.

  She’d always assumed Alex just didn’t have a lot of interest in sex. Turned out, of course, he just didn’t have much interest in her. He might have needed her to secure his status as a resident alien, but love? She didn’t imagine Alex knew how to love anyone.

  For years, she thought she was the one with the problem.

  Twenty years had passed since the accident which left her hovering near death for weeks, and from which she’d emerged with the strange abilities that tended to repel rather than attract people. Her body still carried the scars from it, as well as too many of the pounds she’d accumulated during her last pregnancy. And her face was saved from being completely ordinary only by the addition of several thousand freckles. All in all, it was a package she didn’t think any man would ever have trouble resisting.

  Until she met Sam.

  Sam. Even sitting in a church – divine energy swirling around her, the smell of beeswax and frankincense thick in the air, old Mrs. Barbieri up in the organ loft, pounding out hymns with so much more enthusiasm than skill – thinking about him made her blush. She loved him.

  She loved him with a fixedness that frightened her. And oh, sweet lord, how he made her feel. He made her feel beautiful, desirable and, at times, just a little too vulnerable.

  Marsha closed her eyes as she thought about him. Thought about his smile and his dark gray eyes. Eyes that seemed to see straight into her soul. Eyes that saw too damn much, she’d thought more than once. And wasn’t that ironic?

  She’d always thought she understood why it upset people when she used her gifts to see how they were feeling, what kinds of thoughts might be running through their minds. Not that she let it stop her, of course. What was the big deal, after all? She only did it to be helpful.

  But she hadn’t understood – not really. Not until she met someone who seemed almost as intuitive as she.

  At first, she’d even encouraged the psychic connection between them. Captivated by her growing attraction for him, she’d given Sam an amulet designed to increase his ability to see her for who she was. It had worked entirely too well. But as he began to see more than she wanted him to, she found it more and more difficult to know what he was thinking about anything.

  Perhaps it was part of the price she paid for having interfered with fate, or maybe he’d intentionally closed himself off from her. She didn’t know, and it didn’t much matter anyhow.

  Marsha was sure of very few things when it came to men and to love. But one thing she knew without a doubt. She would not make the same mistakes with Sam she’d made with Alex.

  She hadn’t seen Alex for what he was, largely because she hadn’t bothered to look past the surface. And she hadn’t thought to question his devotion until it was far too late.

  Maybe it wasn’t fair, or maybe it was simply what most people would call intelligent, but she would make no assumptions about the extent of Sam’s commitment to her.

  He was here today, and if was still here tomorrow then that would be nice. But she would never again allow herself to be caught unprepared by a man’s defection. So if, on the other hand, tomorrow he were to disappe
ar from her life, well... she wouldn’t be surprised, that’s all. She wouldn’t be surprised by anything that occurred, or failed to occur, between them.

  And she would never – no matter how great the temptation – ever attempt to use her gifts to keep the man tied to her, not for one single moment longer than he wanted to be there.

  She would not seek to bind Sam, or to bend him to her will.

  She might be a slow learner about a lot of other things, but that was one lesson she hadn’t needed to learn more than once.

  As the Mass drew to a close, the energy that had been raised was gradually withdrawn. Marsha could sense the peace which had surrounded her dissipate as well, revealing the cold, bitter pain that still lurked inside her.

  What good had her abilities ever done her, she wondered? They hadn’t prevented her from marrying Alex. They couldn’t keep her from worrying about Sam. And they certainly hadn’t stopped her from throwing Bob and Siobhan together again ten years ago, when her sister had returned to Oberon; broken and grieving, hovering on the brink of a nervous breakdown and clearly in need of some sort of counseling.

  Knowing how private Siobhan was, how reluctant she’d likely be to discuss anything so personal with a stranger, it had seemed like a perfect solution. It sure hadn’t turned out that way.

  Neither Siobhan or Bob would admit to what had gone wrong between them, but it was evident something had. And whatever it was, Marsha acknowledged sadly, it had been her idea, her responsibility, and ultimately, her fault.

  And that was what had brought her here today.

  Her conversation with Ryan had been weighing heavy on her mind. All her instincts were telling her that whoever or whatever was bothering Siobhan, it was somehow connected to the events of ten years ago.

  If she was right, then it was long past time she got some answers. Time she learned just what kind of mess she’d been responsible for making, and how bad the karma she’d created for herself might be.