The Lost Enchantress

by Patricia Coughlin

  “I forgot to close the garage door?” Eve shook her head. “I must have been even more frantic than I’d realized. I’m sorry we worried you, Grand.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t worried,” Grand countered.

  Eve and Rory exchanged a look as Grand calmly and unhurriedly took a sip of tea.

  Eve’s eyes narrowed. “You did notice that the pendant was also missing?”

  “And also my fault,” Rory blurted before Grand had time to speak. “I took it.”

  “Yes. I know,” Grand said.

  Rory scrunched her brow. “You know? How?”

  “Because I set the wards, of course. Any competent mage can set a simple protection ward. Creating something more layered and multifunctional is a far greater challenge. And, if I may say so, something of a specialty of mine. Some have even called it an art. As soon as I saw the wards in tatters and the talisman gone, I knew it was with you. I also know that Eve found you—and the talisman—by scrying.” She turned and looked directly at Eve. “That can’t have been easy for you.”

  “I managed,” Eve said, not really surprised by the revelations.

  “And splendidly, I’ve no doubt of that. But of course, I have never doubted you, or your abilities.” She held Eve’s gaze just long enough to make sure her meaning was understood, and then leaned back in her chair, arms folded. “That much I know. What I don’t know, Rory, is why you took it.”

  Eve listened as Rory told Grand what she’d done with the talisman and what she’d hoped to accomplish, eagerly explaining her scientific reasoning.

  When she was through, Grand peered at her from beneath sharply arched brows. “With a boy you hardly know?” She shook her head. “Silly child. Did you really think to improve on the work of a goddess?”

  Rory appeared startled by the question.

  “The talisman was a gift,” explained Grand, “bestowed for a very specific reason, so that a T’airna woman could be sure the man she loved was true of heart. The man she loved. It was never intended to weed out the runts of the litter or to be used like one of those foolish contraptions people strut along the beach with in hopes of finding lost coins and trinkets in the sand.”

  “Metal detectors,” Rory supplied, no longer smiling.

  “Yes. Those. The talisman is meant to sanction what the heart knows. Not to do the work every woman must do for herself. Love is never simple or tidy or easy. You’re meant to get your hands dirty and your heart bruised, and yes, maybe even broken, along the way. You’re meant to earn it, so that when it finally comes you’ll understand what a prize you have and treasure it.”

  Eve felt a sudden lump in her throat. A good lump, a happy lump, a lump of dreamy anticipation. And looking across the table at the way Rory was biting her lip, she suspected there was a similar lump in her throat. Grand was good. In a handful of minutes and a handful of words, she said all the things Rory needed to hear about love, about its price and its possibilities. She said the things Eve wished she’d had the wisdom to say. She had—to use Rory’s word—kaleidoscoped both of them.

  Hours later, they said their good nights and went off to their own beds, with plenty to think about until sleep claimed them.

  Eve carried her leather tote to her room out of habit; she wouldn’t be doing any of the prep work she’d brought home from the office. When she dropped the tote on her bed, a flash of red caught her eye and she remembered the single rose she’d impulsively held on to after asking a newsroom intern to distribute the other hundred and seventy-nine to anyone who wanted them.

  The damp napkin she’d wrapped around the stem had dried and the rose was wilted, the edges of the velvety petals dark and beginning to shrivel. It was clearly beyond rescue, but she fetched a glass of water to put it in anyway, and placed the glass where she could see it from her bed. And smiled as she turned out the light.

  On the other side of the house, with the connecting door closed and locked, Grand moved aside shoe boxes and hatboxes and boxes containing her out-of-season clothing in order to reach the farthest corner of her bedroom closet. She took out the tapestry valise tucked away there and carried it to her bed. The once bright colors—gold and burgundy and evergreen—had long since given way to their muted shadow selves, and at the bottom edges and along the zipper, where the threads were worn away, there was no color left at all.

  It didn’t matter. To Brigid T’airna’s eye, it looked the same as it had decades earlier when she stepped off the ship that had carried her and all her worldly belongings across the ocean. A good many of those belongings—and all the ones that mattered most to her—had been in that bag and the bag had never been out of her sight.

  Among them was a pair of rose bushes, which had been carefully dug up, by her own hand and in the dark of night, from the grand estate where her beloved Liam had been groundskeeper. She’d pruned them so they fit in the bottom of the valise, and tended them as devotedly as a mother bird tends the eggs in her nest, through storms and sickness, all the way from Ireland to America. Aside from her memories, the roses and her unborn child were all she had left of the only man she’d ever loved, and she was determined to see to it both thrived in their new home.

  And for a time they both had. Her darling Diana was gone now, and the roses were lost to her as well. But beneath the silver hair and wrinkled skin she was as feisty as the day she set sail, and as determined to see to it that what mattered most to her would endure. The old valise still held one thing of great import. It was like no other in existence, in fact. And it had been years since she’d looked upon it.

  Now she found the pocket cleverly concealed between the tapestry and the inside lining and removed a scroll tied with a black silk cord, and then she oh-so-carefully unrolled the fragile parchment and began to read.

  She had definitely made the right choice.

  Hazard hadn’t said where they would be dining, and she hadn’t wanted to call him to ask, so deciding what to wear had been a toss-up right down to the last minute. Should she play it safe with black slacks and a silk blouse that would blend in anywhere? Or go with the gold silk jersey dress that had definitely not been designed for a woman looking to get lost in the crowd? It was the kind of seriously head-turning, jaw-dropping dress meant to command a man’s full attention. Which explained why it was hanging in Chloe’s closet and not her own.

  The color was the deep rich gold of old Roman coins; the fit was snug and it had a deep V-neckline both front and back. And if they ended up at a pizza joint, she would look utterly ridiculous in it.

  But if they didn’t, if Hazard had something fancier in mind, something with candlelight and starched linen, then she would get to see his head turn and his jaw drop, and Eve found that prospect appealed to her far more than it should.

  As she’d pondered her choices, every well-honed instinct she possessed clamored for her to hang the dress back where it belonged and play it safe. The lone voice daring her not to was one she didn’t recognize; it was the unfamiliar voice of a stranger within. A stranger who obviously didn’t know that Eve Lockhart always played it safe. Except she wasn’t playing it safe tonight, was she?

  There was nothing safe about going off alone with a man she knew hardly anything about. And what she did know she didn’t trust. A man who didn’t play fair and who was dangerous in a dozen ways she could name and no doubt some she couldn’t. And the biggest threat of all might be the unprecedented and unpredictable way she responded to him. The man could warm her blood and ruffle her composure from ten floors away, for pity’s sake. Compared to all that, rolling the dice on a dress didn’t seem like such a big deal.

  She knew she’d made the right choice as soon as she opened the front door. Hazard looked first at her eyes, and then his gaze began a long, slow slide over the gold dress and a body that could only be described as curvy, all the way down to coppery gold, four-inch heels glam enough to make Carrie Bradshaw drool. By the time he’d made the journey back up, his cool gray eyes had warmed considerably
. And when he finally smiled, it was the measured, unwilling smile of a man who couldn’t help himself.

  He was dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit over a smoke gray shirt and a tie the same color. The way his clothes fit, the way he held himself, even the hint of arrogant indifference in his expression, suggested he regularly achieved such perfection with minimal effort.

  And told Eve they were not going for pizza.

  In a city known for its fine Italian restaurants, Settimio’s was one of the finest. It was located on Federal Hill, not on the area’s busy stretch of clubs and eating places, but tucked away on a quiet side street where the only signage needed was the brass letter S set in the sidewalk in front and another on the black awning above the door of the century-old brownstone.

  The atmosphere inside was one of sophisticated old-world charm. It was a description that also fit Hazard, Eve thought as he held her chair for her to sit. He did it with the same easy grace with which he’d helped her in and out of his car and had lightly held her elbow as they climbed the stairs outside. It wasn’t the first time a man had held her chair or opened a door for her, and she couldn’t say precisely what the difference was between the way Hazard did those things and the way every other man she’d ever known did them, except to say that no other man had ever made her feel so much like a pampered, protected princess. No other man had ever made her feel delicate, as if she needed his protection and merited his pampering.

  It was silly, of course, something out of a fairy tale or romance novel, and thoroughly contrary to the modern concepts of equality she believed in. That didn’t make it one iota less thrilling. And Eve decided that just for tonight she was going to savor the feeling as passionately and free from guilt as she intended to savor the Risotto alla Cosara and Pesto di Salmone.

  “I’m glad you chose Settimio’s,” she told him, as the wine steward poured wine in his glass.

  Hazard tasted it and nodded approval. “Have you been here before?”

  “Yes, but not often. This is definitely a special-occasion kind of place.” She gazed around the room, admiring the warm yellow walls, dark woods and maroon velvet curtains. There were fresh-cut flowers in a crystal vase on each table and a fire burning in the fireplace.

  “It’s so beautiful in here,” she remarked.

  “You’re so beautiful in here,” he told her, his gaze serious and unwavering. “When you opened the door and I saw you standing there, I thought you couldn’t be more beautiful. But here, surrounded by all this color and candlelight . . .”

  He was usually so eloquent, Eve was surprised to see him grasping for the right words.

  “It’s as if the room is a jewel box created just to let you shine,” he said finally. “And you do.”

  “Well, I . . . thank you,” she murmured, hoping her dress wasn’t so snug he could see her heart pounding. “That’s a lovely compliment.”

  A lovely compliment? Good lord, it was the most romantic thing any man had ever said to her and she was melting inside. Then his mouth curved into that familiar, faintly mocking smile. “But I am disappointed in one regard,” he said.

  A “but.” Of course there would have to be a “but.”

  “Oh really?” she countered, sucking in her stomach and wondering if she had lipstick on her teeth. “What’s that?”

  “The bells. When you accepted my dinner invitation, you said something about wearing bells, and that’s a sight I’ve been looking forward to seeing all day.”

  “And you would have,” she told him, grinning and lifting her hair on one side to reveal a gold filigree earring dangling tiny citrine crystals and even tinier round gold bells. “If you’d looked closely enough.”

  “Rest assured that I looked as closely as I dared,” he murmured softly. “Just not at your ears.”

  His smile deepened and his eyes darkened in a way that was elegant and decadent at the same time. He lifted his hand as if to touch the earring that had him transfixed and then seemed to catch himself with it in midair and dropped it to his side.

  Eve took a quick sip of wine, feeling suddenly warm. And flustered. Which was ridiculous. This wasn’t her first date, for God’s sake. In fact, technically speaking, it might not be a date at all. So there was candlelight, its effect intensified by the strategically placed gilt-edged mirrors, and there was soft music drifting from the baby grand piano in a distant corner, and the whole place reeked of romance; that didn’t make it a date. Not a real date anyway. Nothing about their situation was that clear-cut.

  It was possible Hazard routinely conducted business this way, or maybe he decided to use romance to soften her up after hearing what the security guard had to say about her love life . . . or dearth thereof. That would make the butterfly ballet going on in her stomach even more embarrassing.

  She searched for something innocuous to say.

  “I’ve never sat here before,” she told him, referring to the small private alcove where they were seated next to each other on a curved, green silk banquette. She patted the few inches of cushion that separated them, wondering if she could sound any more inane. “It’s comfy.”

  Apparently she could. It’s comfy? An office full of journalism awards and the best she could do was its comfy?

  “And private,” said Hazard. “I requested it because I thought you would prefer our conversation not be overheard.”

  Now they were getting down to business.

  “I would,” she confirmed, “assuming we’re going to talk about what I think you want to talk about. The question is should we hold off on discussing anything more contentious than the weather and American Idol until after dinner, or get it over with now so that I’m not sitting here dreading it the whole time?”

  “What makes you so sure that what I have to say is something to be dreaded?” he challenged. “Perhaps it’s something you should be eagerly anticipating.”

  “Perhaps. But I don’t think so.” She sighed and folded her arms in front of her. “Okay, let’s just get it over with.”

  He considered her somberly for a moment and then shook his head. “No, I think I’ll wait until the wine and a good meal put you in a more receptive mood.”

  “In other words it’s so bad you want me tipsy and half-asleep when I hear it. You might want to reconsider that strategy; if your timing is off I could barrel right past tipsy and half-asleep to belting out show tunes and passing out . . . to your utter embarrassment.”

  His eyes filled with amusement. “I’ll take my chances that you don’t know that many show tunes . . . and if you pass out, I’m sure I can find a way to revive you.”

  The last few words were spoken slowly as he gradually leaned closer to her. Exactly, Eve thought, the way the prince had leaned over Sleeping Beauty in her glass casket, and everyone knew how he’d resuscitated her. Hazard came close enough for Eve to feel his warm breath on her cheek and notice the shadows cast by his outrageously long eyelashes, and as his head lowered by miniscule degrees, she was absolutely, dazedly certain he was going to kiss her.

  And then he didn’t.

  Instead, he leaned back, reached for the menus and handed her one, confusing her even more. Maybe that was his intent, part of some new strategy, but somehow, when she saw his throat muscles work as he swallowed hard, she didn’t think so.

  They ordered, and she discovered Hazard wasn’t kidding when he said serious conversation would have to wait until after dinner. To her surprise, he proved to be a master of entertaining, even fascinating, casual conversation. In spite of the fact that he knew nothing about American Idol or pop culture in general.

  He did, however, know a great deal about the weather, and not simply in the usual hot-enough-for-you? sense. He knew about the science and the mystery of it; he knew intriguing things about the sun and the ocean and the planets. The breadth of his interest and knowledge was impressive. Over appetizers and salads and entrees, they discussed history and Shakespeare and music. They debated books they’d both read.
Eve found herself calling on facts and theories she hadn’t thought about since she was in college. It was exhilarating for her, and for him too, she thought.

  She was almost sorry when it was time for coffee and dessert and joined him in ordering a brandy as well, happy to linger a while longer. The evening had been perfect so far, the best possibly-a-date she’d been on in . . . maybe ever. And she really didn’t want it to end on a sour note. She decided to be honest with him.

  “Thank you for dinner,” she said. “It was wonderful . . . this whole night has been wonderful and I want to keep it that way. So before we get into a discussion of anything, I think I should tell you that I still don’t want to sell the pendant.”

  “Then you won’t be disappointed to learn that I’m no longer interested in buying it.”

  “You’re not?” she countered, surprised. And skeptical.

  “It’s true. You’ve made your position clear and I respect it. I’m resigned to the fact that it’s not for sale at any price, under any circumstances.”

  “That’s very reasonable of you. And—I’m just going to say it—very suspicious. Care to explain your sudden change of heart? Only a few days ago you were desperate to get your hands on it, and now you’re willing to walk away without a fuss.”

  “I didn’t say I was walking away. Only that I’m no longer interested in buying the pendant. It so happens I have a new proposition for you.”

  Intrigued, Eve leaned back against the tufted cushion. “What sort of proposition?”

  “It’s simple really. Instead of selling me the pendant, I want you to lease it to me.”

  “You want to lease a pendant? I thought only movie stars did that.”

  He seemed baffled.

  “That was a joke. You know how stars borrow jewelry to wear on the red carpet at awards shows?”

  Still looking baffled, he said, “I’m not asking to borrow it; my last monetary offer stands. The only difference is that you retain full ownership.”