The Lost Enchantress

by Patricia Coughlin

  Taggart didn’t count. Taggart was . . . a necessity, like the man who picked up his laundry or the caterer who provided his meals. His voice couldn’t break this silence any more than his presence could pierce the loneliness. Besides, Taggart was of the world of magic and that alone made him as much foe as friend.

  Or so he’d believed until a few days ago. Eve, an enchantress, had somehow managed to do both . . . and in defiance of his best efforts to keep her out. Maybe it was because in spite of the magic in her blood, she didn’t embrace that world. At first he hadn’t believed her claim that she hadn’t deliberately used magic to cheat him out of the pendant. It had taken time and persistence to comb through countless old news stories and magical texts and piece together the details to solve at least part of the puzzle that was Eve Lockhart. Now not only did he believe that she had long ago sworn off magic, but he also understood why.

  Was that what accounted for the strong and unusual sense of connection they’d felt from the start? A shared aversion to magic? Or was it magic itself that had drawn them together?

  He stared into the mirror at the mark on his chest. A circular mark identical to Eve’s birthmark. He hadn’t paid particular attention to the honey-colored birthmark while they were making love; his senses had been spinning far too wildly to focus on any one thing. It was only later, when she’d gone to the bathroom and he was alone that it hit him. They both had the same identical mark, in the same exact spot. Over their hearts. His had been seared into his flesh when Pavane held the base of the pendant in a white-hot fire and then used it to curse him. Two centuries later, an ocean away, Eve had been born with hers. And in time their paths had not simply crossed, they’d become tangled and interwoven.

  Coincidence?

  Or something more portentous?

  Sixteen

  The Solstice Café was located just outside the city, sandwiched between a hair salon and a bookstore in a row of small neighborhood shops. There was a bike rack out front, and a brick patch just big enough for a few tables when the weather warmed. Inside, the café was bright and uncluttered, with natural wood tables and chairs, and whimsical prints of the sun and the moon on the walls. The air was filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the clatter of dishes as waitresses in black slacks and starched white shirts ferried trays from the kitchen to a full house of lunchtime diners.

  It was the sort of place you went for a great chicken caesar salad, not to have your palm read. There was no sign proclaiming “Madame Lavina: Fortunes, Charms and Potions,” with an arrow pointing to the back room. Madame Lavina’s clients heard of her by word of mouth, the way Eve and Hazard had learned of her from Taggart.

  They needed to find Pavane. Scrying was out; even if they had something suitable of Pavane’s to use, he was sure to have cloaked his whereabouts. That left them with the roundabout approach. He was bound to seek out his own kind for anything he needed, and Taggart came up with the names of three mages he knew to be well connected with the local magic scene. Madame Lavina, whose business occupied a small section of her son’s popular café, was their third and final stop of the morning, and their third strike. Although all three mages were aware of some recent buzz about a disturbance in energy currents in and around Providence, they had no knowledge of whom or what was causing it.

  “I wish I could be of more help,” Madame Lavina told them, her soft voice regretful. A slender woman in her forties, she had high cheekbones and dark, exotic eyes. She sat across the carved ebony table from them with a deck of tarot cards untouched before her. Her serene, self-assured manner made Eve think the woman was very good at her craft.

  “I appreciate you making time to see us without an appointment,” Eve told her.

  She smiled and gave a little shrug. “I found myself with an unexpected lull.”

  “Our good luck,” said Eve.

  “Or fate,” Madame Lavina countered, holding Eve’s gaze. “Shall I read for you before you go?”

  If she’d been alone, Eve might have been tempted to take her up on her offer; it couldn’t hurt to get some fresh insight into what lay ahead. But there was no way she wanted her life spread out on the table and dissected in front of Hazard. She shook her head. “Thanks, not today. Another time, perhaps.”

  “Perhaps,” murmured Madame Lavina, looking doubtful. She remained seated as Hazard stood and held Eve’s chair for her to do the same. When she extended her hand, Eve reached out to shake it and Madame Lavina held on tightly.

  “He came here for you, you know,” she said, managing to indicate Hazard without taking her eyes off Eve’s face.

  Eve shook her head, unsure what she meant and uneasy with the way she was gripping her hand. “No. He’s not . . . I mean, we just . . .”

  “Yes,” Madame Lavina said, her tone resolute, her gaze becoming both intense and remote. “He came here to find the truth and give the same, of power lost and power claimed.”

  Eve recognized the words of the prophecy, and the skin at the back of her neck prickled. She jerked her hand away, but the fortune-teller was not deterred.

  “The whole restored from these two parts,” she recited, as if reading the words in Eve’s eyes. “Life to life; heart to heart.”

  “We really have to go,” Eve said, looking around for her purse. Hazard retrieved it from the floor at her feet and handed it to her.

  “You can’t rely on luck,” she warned as Eve turned toward the door. The urgency in her voice made Eve stop and glance back. Madame Lavina looked at her with knowing eyes. “But what was lost can be regained, if the heart is willing.”

  They’d parked about a block away, and neither she nor Hazard said a word until they were back in his car.

  He slid behind the wheel and turned slightly toward her without starting the engine. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Eve turned her head to look at him, cautious.

  “The prophecy,” he added before she had to ask. “That is what Madame Lavina was referring to, isn’t it?”

  “You know the prophecy?”

  “I know of it. I’ve never read the actual text—I don’t know anyone who has. To be honest, I always thought it was a myth.”

  “Maybe it is. I mean, really . . . the Lost Enchantress? It sure sounds mythical. Right up there with Snow White and Peter Pan.”

  “Obviously Madame Lavina disagrees. So does Pavane.”

  “And my grandmother,” she admitted reluctantly, “who probably knows more about it than anyone. She also has an annoying tendency to be right about these things.” She rested her head back on the high leather seat and puffed out a deep sigh. “This is one time I really wish she would be wrong.”

  “But you don’t think she is?”

  She glanced sideways at him, debating with herself, and then twisted in her seat and loosened the ties at the neckline of her pale blue and white peasant blouse just enough to reveal her birthmark. “Look familiar?”

  His eyes narrowed, but he showed no sign of recognition. “Should it?”

  “Maybe not. I’m not sure how good a look you got at the pendant, but my birthmark and the bottom of the hourglass are exactly the same.”

  “And you think that means. . . .”

  “I’m not sure what it means,” she returned, redoing her ties. “If I’m lucky, it means nothing. But considering what Pavane said, and now Madame Lavina, it all seems just a little too coincidental. I have read the actual text, and some of her words came straight from it.”

  “And if it is true that the prophecy is about you, you’d rather stay lost. You’re not tempted by thoughts of what you could do with all that power?”

  “You mean with unlimited amounts of what I don’t want any part of in the first place?” Eve countered. “Funny, I expected you, of all people, to understand. I thought you felt the same way I do about magic.”

  “I detest it, if that’s what you mean. But my feelings are those of an outsider, and based on personal experience.”

  �
��So are mine . . . based on personal experience, that is.”

  “You’re talking about the fire that killed your parents.”

  It wasn’t a question. Eve looked at him sharply. “What do you know about the fire?”

  “Only what I could find in news reports from the time. And that it happened on the one night of the year reserved for a legendary spell, which, according to your family lore, you would have been exactly the right age to cast. The rest I’m just guessing.”

  She raised her eyebrows, wondering how he knew about the spell. “The rest?”

  “That’s right.” He leaned back and crossed his arms, observing her expression closely. “My guess is you did cast the spell that night, and that something went wrong, something that made you blame yourself for everything that happened afterwards, the fire, your parents’ death, your grandmother and sister losing their home, all of it. And that you’ve been trying to atone for it ever since. I think cutting yourself off from magic is part fear, part penance.”

  She flushed revealingly and looked away. “Well, you’re a lousy guesser.”

  “Maybe so.”

  “And even if you happened to get some of it right,” she added, turning back to him, “it’s really none of your business.”

  “Maybe so,” he said a second time. “But I’m a damn good listener, and I’m willing to bet there’s never been anyone else you could talk with about what happened . . . at least not honestly.”

  She didn’t deny it.

  “Tell me about that night,” he invited softly. “What went wrong with the spell?”

  Her chin went up and her shoulders tensed, and for a moment Hazard was sure he’d pushed too hard, too soon, and she wouldn’t answer. Then she sighed.

  “Nothing. It wasn’t the spell that was wrong—it was me.” The irritation was gone from her voice, replaced by something bleak and haunted. “The fact is a lot of that night is a blank for me. I know I finished casting the spell. I know there was a fire. I know my parents died in it. The details don’t seem that important . . . it’s not as if knowing them will change anything.”

  “Maybe that depends on the details.”

  “Nothing can change the fact that I was wrong to cast the spell in the first place,” she argued. “My folks were dead set against magic. All my mother wanted was for my sister and me to fit in, to have a nice safe, normal life. I wanted . . . anything but. I wanted more. More excitement, more passion. I was never the prettiest or most popular girl at school, and I never really wanted to be. But, God, how I wanted this. I knew magic would set me apart, make me different . . . special.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with wanting that,” he said quietly.

  “But there is a wrong way to go about it. My parents were out that night because I arranged it. I had to—I was determined to cast the spell and that was my one and only chance to do it. You were right about that,” she acknowledged.

  “The Winter Rose Spell,” he said.

  Eve nodded. “A chance to see the face of my beloved . . . my one true love,” she drawled. “How could I pass that up? I was young and starry-eyed . . . and stupid.”

  “And did you?” he asked, careful not to sound as invested in the answer as he felt. “See your one true love?”

  She tucked her hair behind her ear, a gesture that struck him as so young and excruciatingly vulnerable it was like a hot wire laid across his heart.

  “According to Grand I did; I don’t remember it. That’s one of the blanks. What I do remember is lying to my parents and sneaking around behind their backs for weeks getting ready to cast the spell. If I hadn’t, there wouldn’t have been any candles left burning in the turret that night.”

  “That’s what started the fire?” he asked. “Candles burning in the turret?”

  “You said you read the news stories.”

  He bit his lip. He had indeed; he’d read every old news article he could find and watched all the available film footage. What’s more, he understood that news was Eve Lockhart’s business, her stock and trade, her armor. She dealt in facts and details and cold, hard truth. She’d built a reputation on her ability to tell fact from fancy, and it was going to take more than some theorizing or conjecturing on his part to sway her from what she knew to be true. Especially a truth she’d clung to for so long.

  “I can’t believe I’m going on and on about this with everything else we have to worry about,” she said. “We need to find Pavane before he finds us, and that won’t happen if we sit here all afternoon rehash—oh no.” She checked her watch. “Damn.”

  She’d lost track of the time. Allison Snow was having her bandages removed that afternoon, and Eve had promised she would be there to lend moral support. Now, because she’d been busy wallowing in her own misery, she was probably going to be late.

  “Problem?” Hazard asked.

  “Yes. I’m supposed to be at the hospital in ten minutes. It has to do with work,” she explained when his expression became concerned.

  He still looked concerned. “I thought you were taking time off from work until this is over?”

  “I am. Mostly. But there are places where my work spills over into my life, and I can’t take time off from those things.” She briefly explained the bond she shared with Allison. “It doesn’t matter what else is going on, I have to be there for her . . . I want to be there. And I’ll never make it on time if I go all the way back to your house to get my car. If you don’t mind dropping me off, I can grab a taxi and pick up my car later. The hospital’s not far from here.”

  “I know where it is. And I do mind,” he said, even as he started the car and began driving in that direction. “I’ll drive you there, but I’m not going to drop you off and leave. I’ll wait for you.”

  “I could be there a long time.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  He really was a confusing man, thought Eve. Hot. Cold. Charming. Rude. This morning he was none too happy to see her, and now he didn’t want to leave. “It’s nice of you to offer, but it’s really not necessary.”

  “I’m not doing it to be nice, and it is necessary if I want to protect my side of our deal. If Pavane gets his hands on you before we get the pendant, I’m out of luck.”

  “How gallant,” she observed, a sardonic edge to her tone. “But I don’t think you have anything to worry about; Pavane’s not likely to pounce on me in the middle of a busy hospital.”

  “If you’re naïve enough to believe that, then you need protecting even more than I thought.” He braked when the stoplight ahead turned from yellow to red and glanced at her, as somber as she’d ever seen him. “I didn’t tell you this earlier because I was hoping we’d get lucky this morning; I didn’t want to worry you if I didn’t have to. Last night I read everything I could find on the spell Pavane used to bind his spirit to the pendant. There are different theories about how it’s done, but they all agree on one thing: no matter what energies he called on to get back here, his presence in this realm is only temporary.”

  “How temporary?”

  “About forty-eight hours, maybe a little more. After that he’ll be too weak to perform the ritual to make his stay permanent.”

  Eve began to smile. “And you were afraid this was going to worry me? It sounds like you’re saying all we have to do is be patient and he’ll go away on his own.”

  “No. I’m saying that he’s going to be desperate to perform that ritual, and getting more desperate by the minute. To do it, he’ll need to draw on the pendant’s full power, and for that he needs you. Get used to me being around, because I won’t be letting you out of my sight anytime soon.”

  Hazard had no problem keeping an eye on Eve from a chair off to one side of the hospital waiting room. He would have been hard put to keep his eyes off her. That had been true from the start, of course, but there was something different about her today, something fresh and even more captivating to him.

  The waiting room was already filled with people when they arrived. All
ison Snow had asked Eve to be with her for the removal of her final bandages, but others had come on their own to surprise the young woman with an enthusiastic show of support. There were friends and family members, a couple of her college professors and several nurses who had cared for her along the way. And there were firefighters, some in uniform, some off duty, as well as the rescue crew that had been the first to treat her after she was carried from the building. They mingled and talked like friends, and Hazard soon realized that’s because they were. They’d been brought together by tragedy, and they’d run into each other in the hospital hallways and waiting areas many times in the months since, ready to do whatever they could to help put back together the young life some of them had risked their own to save.

  When Eve walked in, there was an immediate outpouring of warm greetings. Accustomed to being a stranger wherever he went, he found an empty chair on the sidelines and watched her move around the room, giving and receiving hugs and affectionate teasing. She reminded him of a butterfly released into its natural habitat, free to spread its wings and soar. He’d seen her worried and afraid and dazed with passion, and he’d watched her on camera, both as the lost-looking fifteen-year-old in film clips from the days after the fire, and as the competent, controlled professional journalist she was today. But he’d never seen this easygoing and breezy side of her.

  Even her clothes were different today; both the color and the fit were softer and, to his eye, more feminine. He liked it. A lot. Especially what she was wearing on top. Not that he didn’t appreciate the snug-fitting clothes she usually wore; there was just something about the blue and white thing she had on that reminded him of sunny skies and made him want to smile and never look away. Maybe it was the way it swirled with her body when she moved, and settled on her curves when she was still. And the teasing sheer-ness of whatever it was made of, seeming to offer a glimpse of what was underneath but never really doing it, no matter how closely he looked.