Celtic Dragons

by Dee Bridgnorth

  There was a brief pause, and Siobhan found she was holding her breath, waiting for his response.

  “Actually, I’d like to meet with you.”

  “You would?”

  There was a faint hint of amusement in his voice. “Is that such a shock?”

  “Yeah, it really is.”

  “Blunt, as always. Shock or not, I’d like to meet. I’ve been considering calling you anyway. Are you available?”

  Siobhan glanced at Melanie’s house, which appeared, as far as she could tell, still and uninteresting from the outside. Truth be told, she had no idea when—or, technically, if—this man with the high-pitched voice was ever going to come after Melanie, and she couldn’t exactly sit watching her twenty-four seven until something happened.

  She couldn’t just walk away from her either though.

  “Let me call you back.”

  “What?” Julian sounded shocked. “Call me back?”

  “Yeah,” Siobhan said. “It’s not a rejection. Don’t give me another speech. Let me just arrange for one of my friends to come take over the stakeout for a while. Then I’ll call you back.”

  “I don’t make speeches.”

  Siobhan let out a robust laugh. “Yeah, okay. Talk to you in a minute.”

  She hung up without waiting for him to agree or say goodbye and dialed Kean’s number. As the phone rang, she found that her stomach was still in knots, but this time it was with anticipation. That surprised her more than anything.

  Am I actually looking forward to seeing Julian again? Why would I be looking forward to seeing Julian again…?

  “Yo,” Kean answered. “How’s the stake-outing?”

  “I need you to take over for a while. Are you free?”

  “Giving up already? Wow, Siobhan, where’s your stamina?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Ha ha, you’re so funny. I’ve got to meet with the psychic guy for more information, I hope. Can’t do that here, but I just have a gut feeling that tells me not to leave this woman alone. Can you watch her for a few hours? She’s at home. All you have to do is sit in your car, unless she goes somewhere.”

  “Uh …” Kean paused, papers shuffling in the background. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I can do it. I’m working on some research for my own case, but I can do that in the car. Text me the address, okay?”

  “Thanks,” Siobhan said, once again hanging up without waiting for a goodbye. Kean would be used to that from her though. She texted him the address and then called Julian back.

  “Hello…?”

  “Why do you always sound like you’re uncertain whether there’s going to be anyone on the other side of the line?” Siobhan asked, glancing up at the house she was watching, as Melanie appeared, dragging the trash to the edge of the curb, dusting her hands off, and walking back inside.

  “I didn’t know that I did.”

  “Yeah, you always answer very slowly,” Siobhan told him. “Anyway—do you still want to meet?”

  “I haven’t changed my mind in the past three minutes, although part of me wonders why not.”

  Siobhan smirked slightly. “Okay, so give me an hour to make the trade off with my friend. Where do you want me to be in one hour?”

  “My apartment. I’ll text you the address.”

  And then Julian beat her at her own game, hanging up without waiting for a reply.

  Chapter Twelve

  Julian

  He was in a difficult situation, and not just because he’d had the same vision again, for the fourth day in a row. That was disturbing enough, but Julian was almost more troubled by the sight of his dining room table, laid out with two plates, two wine glasses, and covered dishes of food that he had prepared himself. It made sense, if he was having important company.

  But it was only Siobhan coming over—the woman who had put him off the moment she opened her mouth and then repeated the feat almost every time she had opened it since. Siobhan, the woman who had announced loudly to her friend that he was the opposite of everything that she would want in a man. Siobhan, the woman who he had purposefully decided not to have in his life because of the strange impact she had on him.

  Now she was due to arrive any moment, at his apartment, and he had cooked them both a nice dinner to enjoy while they talked about the developments of the case that he had been foolish enough to think he could just was his hands of.

  The only explanation he had for getting himself into this situation was that the night before, when he had met Caroline for dinner and drinks, he had spent the whole evening comparing her to Siobhan. He compared their eyes and the tones of their voices and their mannerisms. He realized for the first time that Caroline was a bit pretentious in the way she spoke to waiters and ate her food, as though she was just a little bit too good to be there. Siobhan might have insulted the waiter and not known the right place to put her napkin, but she wouldn’t have turned up her nose at the rosé, then sipped on with a dramatic air of self-sacrifice.

  Caroline had been borderline irate when he said that he was tired, hadn’t been feeling well of late, and needed to go straight home after dinner. Usually when she was in town, they spent their nights together. They had a longstanding friendship with benefits, though neither of them ever considered the possibility for anything more. But he just hadn’t wanted to spend the night with her.

  He excused it by telling himself that he didn’t want to risk having a vision while she was there and having to explain himself, but it was more than that.

  He just hadn’t been attracted to her last night, even if she had looked as beautiful as ever.

  There was no doubt in his mind that she wouldn’t be contacting him in the future, and it didn’t bother him much. There had never been a future with Caroline, and he was getting to the age where the future was a more pressing concern. Besides, he could never imagine talking to her about the visions that were now, presumably, a permanent part of his life, and any long-term partner that he had would have to be able to understand and accept his new…gift.

  There was a sharp knock at the door, and even if Julian hadn’t been expecting Siobhan, he would have known it was her. Three, short, fast, abrupt raps announced her arrival, and he walked away from the dining room table and opened the front door, taken immediately with the way Siobhan looked as she stood there.

  She was wearing denim shorts today, cut so high that all of her slim, toned, tanned legs were exposed. An olive-green T-shirt hugged her upper body, outlining the curve of her breasts and the narrow dip of her waist. Tan, canvas slip-ons completed her outfit, and there was not a speck of makeup on her face. Her blonde hair was loosely French braided and hanging over one of her shoulders as she stood in his doorway, one hip cocked out and her hand resting on the doorjamb. There was a slightly controversial look already displayed on her features, and she was the most beautiful thing that he had ever seen.

  Somehow, she made Caroline’s refined beauty seem distant and shallow. Caroline always showed up for their dates impeccably dressed, with a pencil skirt that hit her just above the knee, showing off her long legs wrapped in silky nylons and ending in tall, elegant heels. Button-down blouses were tucked into her skirt, emphasizing her own narrow waist and ample chest, and the dark, sleek fall of her hair framed her tastefully made-up face.

  Caroline was a classy, elegant woman, and yet Siobhan stood there in her slightly disheveled state, looking ready for a fight, and blew Caroline out of the water.

  “Are you going to say hi?” Siobhan asked, arching one brow at him.

  Julian cleared his throat, realizing he was just standing there, staring at her. “Hi. Come in.”

  She walked inside, setting her bag down by the door and kicking off her shoes as she looked around his apartment. “Yeah, this place looks like you. I can see it.”

  He closed the door, glancing around his apartment as well. “Do I want to know what you mean by that statement?”

  “It’s very put together,” she told him, gesturing to the sleek
brown leather couch, dusty blue rug, and cherrywood desk that dominated his living room. “Masculine. Straightforward. High end. Good looking.”

  “Ah,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and standing beside her as they both surveyed the room. “I thought you were going to tell me my living room was buttoned-up and stuffy.”

  “Well, it is a little bit.”

  He actually laughed, rather than feeling offended. “Well, I see you haven’t changed.”

  She smirked up at him. “It’s been four days. Did you expect Grace Kelly to come waltzing in?”

  “Hardly.” He gestured toward the dining room table, dragging a hand over his dark hair just because he needed to do something with his hand. “Dinner’s waiting. I guess I should have asked if you’d eaten.”

  Turning, she looked at the dining room table, both brows going up this time. “Holy shit.”

  “That’s the reaction I usually want to get when I cook.”

  She walked over to the table, lifting the lids of the dishes to survey the food. “I don’t know what most of this is, but it smells really good. What happened? Did you get stood up or something?”

  Julian rolled his eyes at her, walking over and nudging her into a chair. “No. It’s for us. And it’s butternut squash and feta ravioli, in case you were wondering.”

  Sitting down, Siobhan pulled the basket of bread toward her and took a roll. “Well, thanks. This is nice of you. As long as it’s not poisoned, that is.”

  “It’s definitely poisoned.”

  “I figured.”

  He glanced up at her, and she actually smiled, reaching across him to take the butter dish and slather a generous patty of it onto her roll. For a moment, there was silence between them, each reaching for dishes, passing them back and forth and loading their plates with the butternut squash ravioli, the separate cream sauce, the lightly-sugared snap peas topped with crushed walnuts, and the pesto potatoes.

  “So you really cooked all this?” Siobhan asked him, dipping a piece of her bread into the sauce and sampling it. “It’s good. I thought you just wrote about food.”

  “Mainly I do,” he said, taking his own first bite. “But I cook sometimes too, and yes, I cooked all of this. I like food. I like that simple, straightforward dishes can be as rich and decadent as the most elaborate dishes. I like the way that flavors work together. I like the innovation. I like that there’s something so inspiring about food that people are willing to put hours and hours of time into something that will be consumed in mere minutes. I like that you eat with your eyes and your nose as much as your mouth. I like that you can trace cultures and societies through their food and see a blend of practicality—what grows well in that geographical area—and achievement—what can they learn from other cultures and bring in from other places to enhance the food they already have. Like in New Orleans, where you have Creoles and Cajuns, both working with the same base of products that they can grow and obtain in their area, but coming up with totally different—but not incompatible—cuisines.” He shrugged, using the side of his fork to cut through the firm pasta into the pocket of filling within. “There’s nothing I don’t like about food.”

  Siobhan finished her own bite, looking at him thoughtfully. “Wow. How are you not really fat?”

  Julian laughed again, his second time to do so in the few minutes that she’d been in his house. It was different, he realized, when he could find the humor in her blunt statements rather than taking offense to them. “I work out like a madman?”

  “That will do it,” she agreed. “I like that you have passion about something. It’s nice to see that side of you. And the fact that the food is damn good doesn’t hurt.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” he said, not just talking about the food. “I would like for us to start over, Siobhan. There is a lot about the last four days that I need to tell you, but first—I would like for us to begin again. The day that I first came to your office, I was not ready to deal with any of what was happening, I don’t think. It all started to happen so fast, and I think I shut down a little bit. Maybe I wasn’t the easiest person to be around, and I didn’t cut you any slack—at all.”

  Her fork down on her plate, Siobhan just stared at him in surprise. “You’re apologizing to me?”

  “Yes…”

  “Wow.”

  Uncomfortably, he shifted in his chair. “I wasn’t that awful, you know. You don’t have to look so shocked that I might apologize.”

  “No,” she said, picking up her roll again. “It’s not that. It’s just—I was the one who was aggressive. I pushed you too hard, too fast. I do that a lot, actually. And then I said those awful things to Moira about you…”

  “Things? As in…plural?”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” Siobhan said quickly. “Apology accepted. And extended from me. It’d be great if we could work together.” She nodded, taking another bite. “I’d like that. Especially if it comes with food.”

  He chuckled again and stood up, remembering that he had left a bottle of wine chilling in the refrigerator. Retrieving the white wine with an extra dose of light and sweet, he walked back into the dining room, uncorked the bottle, and poured them each half a glass. Picking up his glass, he clinked it against hers. “To starting over then.”

  “Sure,” she agreed, taking a generous sip. “Starting over. So, what do you have to tell me?”

  “I’ve been having a vision every day.”

  Siobhan set her glass down, looking at him intently. “Seriously? All about Melanie? What else did you find out? You know I located her. I’ve been following her around for the past day, keeping an eye on her.”

  There she went, rushing again. He didn’t let it bother him, answering her first question first. “Not about Melanie, per se. About the guy who took her. They’re not helpful visions. He’s in a dark room, alone, giggling to himself and saying he’s been a bad boy. It’s maybe the creepiest thing I’ve ever heard in my life, and the first time I had the vision, it scared me to death.”

  “Have you ever had repeat visions before?”

  He shook his head. “No. Not until I went with you to Ophelia and she helped me see the first vision of Melanie again. And now I’m having the same vision every day. Before I came to you, I only had visions once every few weeks. Something is changing, whether it’s something that Ophelia opened up for me or not.”

  Siobhan nodded, stabbing a snap pea with her fork and popping it into her mouth. “It’s crazy how good you can make vegetables taste, isn’t it? I usually hate snap peas. They make me want to gag. But not these.”

  “A compliment of the highest order,” he said dryly.

  She laughed. “Sorry. I meant that they’re good.”

  “I gathered that,” he said, amused. “Anything to weigh in with regarding the visions of creepy murderers that I’m having? If I’m going to become psychic, I’d much prefer to be able to do party tricks where I predict people’s love lives rather than experience the inner twistedness of murderers’ minds.”

  “Understandable,” she agreed, crossing her legs under the table. Her foot brushed up against his leg accidentally, and Julian was shocked at the rush of sensation that traveled up his thigh and directly to his groin. “Do you believe in psychics?”

  She’d asked him a question, but he had to swallow down his desire and shock first. “Uh, huh?”

  “Psychics,” she prompted. “Do you believe in them. Or, I guess, did you believe in them before you became one?”

  “Oh.” Julian ordered his body to get a hold of itself and focused on the conversation. “Uh, no, not really. It wasn’t something I had spent a lot of time thinking about. But if you had asked me then, I would have said psychics are faking it.”

  “So you don’t believe in the supernatural?”

  “What is the…supernatural?” he asked, taking another bite of his ravioli. “Ghosts?”

  She shrugged. “Sure. Could be. But the supernatural is a lot of different t
hings. It’s any phenomenon that can’t be explained by natural science. Things that seem to defy the laws of nature. Things that shouldn’t be able to exist, according to our understanding of the world, but do.”

  Julian considered that for a moment, swirling the wine in his glass. “I guess I don’t…not believe in that. It would be kind of arrogant to make some sweeping statement that I don’t believe in anything that can’t be explained by man’s version of science. But then again, I’m an accountant. I deal with things that I can see, touch, add up, explain. Before all of this began, I wouldn’t have said I believed in things like ghosts or…vampires or whatnot. But now, I guess I don’t know. Anything’s possible.”

  “Anything,” Siobhan agreed.

  They smiled at each other, and Julian felt that surge of desire again that confused him so much.

  Yes, she was beautiful. Yes, she had a way of getting under his skin. Yes, he was drawn to her even when he was put off by her, and yes, he had felt a strangely powerful urge to see her again. But to be feeling this way…?

  Maybe his body had just entered its launch sequence because he’d met up with Caroline but hadn’t slept with her. It had been about four months since he’d slept with anyone at all, and that was a long time for a man in his early thirties to go without being with a woman.

  That had to be it.

  He started to speak again, eager to return them to the case, but there was a knock at his door that interrupted him. Confused, he excused himself from Siobhan and went to answer it, expecting to find a neighbor who was locked out or a door-to-door salesman trying to offload his supply of water filters.

  He didn’t expect to open the door and see a familiar face, standing there with an expectant smile and a black trench coat that, in the heat of late summer, seemed like more of a seduction gag than anything else.

  “Hello, handsome.”

  Julian swallowed hard. “Caroline…hi.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Siobhan

  Siobhan didn’t get up from the table, continuing to sip at her wine as she listened to the awkward, stilted conversation that Julian was having at the door with the woman who had appeared, presumably unexpectedly, to seduce him.