by Jane Hinchey
"Took you so long to get here it's thinned out a bit now," Skye responded defensively. She studied her sister closely. "You look like hell."
"Thanks." Georgia shrugged, unconcerned.
"You didn't drive, did you?" Skye frowned.
"Last night? No. This morning? Yes. God, stop fussing, woman, I'm fine. I have a sturdier constitution than you."
"How did you get home?"
"Rhys dropped me. Mom." Georgia sniggered and moved away before Skye could grill her any further, spotting a young couple admiring one of her renovated bedroom suites. True to form, the young man could barely raise his eyes from her chest, but hey, it closed the sale. She rung them up, took their details and promised the furniture would be delivered that week.
Georgia watched them leave with small grin twisting her lips. The couple didn't know it yet, but a bouncing baby girl was in their future.
Lunchtime rolled around and Georgia was thinking of sneaking across the road to the pub when the bell over the front door chimed and Rhys strode in, takeaway bag in his hands.
"Father my children!" she demanded, reaching up to give him a one-armed hug while snatching the bag away with the other. Rhys grinned and let her take it.
"Figured you could use this."
Rhys was her best friend. He was also a werewolf and a cop and easy on the retinas. Six feet, broad shoulders, short dark hair, and smoky gray eyes. His skin was tanned to a soft mocha, and Georgia had often wondered if his coloring was the same in wolf form. Not that she'd ever asked him, or seen him for that matter.
"You know me so well," she mumbled around a mouthful of burger.
Rhys handed one to Skye, then got stuck into his own. It hadn't been lost on Georgia that Skye was a victim to his confident walk and easy smile. Her eyes followed him everywhere he went. She wondered if she needed to give them a nudge in the right direction. So far, neither Skye's nor Rhys's romantic future had revealed themselves to her in any vision, so she had no clue if they were meant to be together or not.
"So have you heard?" Rhys asked after they'd finished eating.
"Heard what?"
"You know that author you like, Zak Goodwin? Well, he's just bought the old homestead up the road from you."
"Fuck off. No? Really?"
"Wow!" Skye chimed in, "for real? What on earth for?"
"Well, you heard that his place in Elen Hills got totaled, right? Seems he wants a total change of pace and thanks to the internet, discovered the homestead on real-estate dot com and bought the place."
"Do you think he'll live here permanently?" Skye breathed, leaning forward, her hand on Rhys's arm.
"Dunno. Guess we'll find out."
3
"Have you seen him yet?" Skye was, of course, referring to the best-selling author who was now Georgia's neighbor - admittedly his house was ten miles away, so it wasn't as if she could step out onto her back porch and spy on him. Or vice versa. Georgia's farmhouse had originally been part of his land - until it all got subdivided and sold off to bail the owners out of financial trouble.
"Nope." She was in two minds about the whole thing. She was a fan of his books. His stories were dark and violent, tales of monsters, demons, and things that go bump in the night. She loved reading them because she suspected his fictional stories were based in truth. She'd known since childhood that witches, werewolves, and vampires existed. And she'd learned just as quickly to keep your mouth shut about it or people would think you were crazy.
"You're a fan aren't you? I've seen his books on your bookshelf." Skye continued to prod and Georgia blew out an exasperated breath.
"Yes. I like his books. No, I do not like, not one bit, that this place has been overrun with media and fans. Christ, I can't even get a park near this place, I had to park blocks away and walk! And the bloody girls who come in and giggle and carry on, not wanting to buy anything, they just want to know if the great Zak Goodwin has been in our store. I'm sick of it already." She groused. The Zak Goodwin phenomenon compounded her already frayed nerves - her nights were filled with frustrating dreams that she couldn't shake and she was exhausted, leaving her frustrated, grumpy and definitely not in the mood to deal with a bunch of fan girls.
Sensing her sister's rapidly dwindling patience, Skye had ordered her back to the farm.
"It's school holidays; I can get my casuals in to lend a hand." Skye had waved away her concerns for leaving her sister alone to deal with the shop. "Plus, we have some empty spaces in the shop, I need you to fill 'em, and that's not going to happen if you're working in here every day."
Skye had a point. They'd sold three large pieces in the last week. Skye had already had several items delivered to the workshop; they were just waiting for Georgia to weave her magic over them. Which wasn't really magic; it was sanding, and more sanding, and painting, and sanding.
"Fine," Georgia had growled, secretly relieved to be able to work at the farmhouse for a few days. She loved the seclusion of her little piece of earth, her farmhouse and its five acres of space. Over the last four years, she'd painstakingly renovated the house, putting her carpentry skills to use and doing most of the work herself. The plumbing and electrical re-wiring she gladly subbed out, but the rest was her own blood, sweat, and tears. She loved her place; it was her haven against the world.
Pulling into her driveway with a skid of tires and a cloud of dust, she swept into the house, making a beeline for the refrigerator and an icy cold beer. Alcohol was taking the edge off her dreams, but the amount she needed to consume to achieve oblivion was starting to bother even her. She'd need a new liver within a year at the rate she was going.
Slumping on the old swing on the back deck, she propped her feet up on the coffee table and settled back, watching the way the trees swayed, the warm, gentle breeze brushing against her skin, the distant buzz of bees as they went about their business.
The dream started out like all the others. From the darkness a shadow moved; a tendril of smoke wound its way toward her, surrounding her. Georgia pushed against the back of the swing while the dark shadow wrapped around her. While it should have suffocated her, it didn't. It felt hot. The air around her sizzled and crackled. The shadow took shape; the smoke meshed and fused to form a solid body.
She felt the weight of him against her, his mouth against her ear as he whispered "Mine," and she melted into him. Her eyes fluttered open and she could make out dark hair and a stubbled jaw. His tall body straddled hers, his chest broad. Her hands explored him, desperate to know him. Heat drifted off him and then his mouth covered her and she was lost, her eyes closing as he became her world.
The kiss deepened, grew more urgent, and her body responded. She wanted him. Wanted him on her, around her, in her.
From a distance, she heard her name.
"Georgia?"
She tumbled out of the dream and back into reality. Her eyes fluttered open to find Rhys staring at her, a quizzical expression drawing his brows together. She felt dizzy, unable to fully focus after being pulled from the dream so abruptly.
"You ok?" he asked.
Snapping herself out of it, Georgia threw him a grin, "Sure. More tired than I realized if I fell asleep sitting here!" While she wanted nothing more than to dissect her latest dream, the reality of Rhys kneeling in front of her precluded any such activity.
"Wanna beer?" she offered, leaning forward, getting ready to rise.
"I'll get it." He pushed her back gently and she let him, easing back against the swing with a sigh. She felt oddly cold without the heat from the dream.
Rhys returned, sitting in the chair at right angles to the swing.
"That must've been some dream." He commented, watching intently. She blushed.
"Er...why?"
"You looked...hot...." Her green eyes met his and he held her gaze, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.
Oh boy. Rhys was an attractive guy. In fact, he was downright smoking hot. Georgia already knew she didn't feel for him that way, but
the way he was looking at her, she knew she'd inadvertently gotten his interest.
"Just a dream, I can't really remember it," she said, breaking the spell by looking beyond him. The sun was now on the horizon, the sky a stunning array of oranges and pinks, twilight settling over this side of the earth. Thankfully he took the hint.
"You missed the excitement this afternoon." He told her, taking a swig of beer. She really didn't think she had; the excitement in her dream had been plenty. Out loud she said, "Oh?"
"Yeah, one of Zak Goodwin's entourage came into your store. I'm surprised Skye didn't call you."
"She's giving me some time out. I'm not sure if I'm being punished or rewarded."
"She's worried about you. You have been burning the candle at both ends a bit lately."
"Sorry that I keep dragging you into it," Georgia apologized. If it wasn't Rhys she was out drinking with, it was usually him that she called in the early hours of the morning looking for a ride home. He'd never let her down, even though she'd often dragged him out of his bed.
"Can't you tell me what's wrong?" he leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees with his beer dangling from his fingers.
"You'd think I'm crazy. Crazier than I already am."
"I don't think you're crazy, Georgia. Don't let people who don't understand or appreciate your special skills make you think you're crazy."
"I don't even know what I am. Not really."
"You're psychic." His simple explanation should have been all she needed, but for some reason, she needed more.
"That seems such a broad definition. Psychic. If I were truly psychic why can't I predict lotto numbers?"
Rhys pulled out his phone and started tapping on the screen, before reading to her.
"Psychic: a person sensitive to things beyond the natural range of perception."
"I suppose," she grumbled, not happy with the label, but not knowing what else you would call her talent.
"So what, now you're having bad dreams about being psychic?" he quizzed.
"No. Someone is...haunting my dreams."
"Haunting? Like a ghost?"
"Well I don't think it's a ghost 'cos he only shows up in my dreams. Someone is connecting with me via my dreams - only I don't know who."
"Are they hurting you? Threatening you?"
"The opposite." She hesitated. She didn't want to share the intimate nature of the dreams with him.
"Ahhhh." From the knowing look he gave her, she guessed Rhys had figured it out for himself.
"Not going there, Rhys!" she held up her hand, palm toward him to stop whatever words were about to come out of his mouth.
"So what did Zak's lackey want?" she said, deftly changing the subject.
Rhys shrugged, "All I heard was something about carving." Georgia had several hand carved figurines on display in the window that generated a lot of interest. Partly because they were hand carved, but mostly because they were of vampires, werewolves, and witches. Georgia had created several eight inch high figurines, each depicting a different supernatural being doing what they did best - a vampire baring his fangs, a werewolf caught changing, a witch spell casting. They sold like hot cakes.
Patience wasn't her strong suit. Rather than wait for Skye to call her, she pulled out her phone and dialed her sister.
"Hey! I hear on the never-wrong grapevine of our town that Zak Goodwin's lackey was in the store this afternoon?"
Skye chuckled. "Yes, one of his employees ducked in, asking questions about the restorative work you do, and the figurines. Wanted to know if you could be commissioned."
"I hope you said yes!"
"Of course! Think of the money if Zak commissioned you to carve him a unique piece!"
"So what happened? Do we have a gig?"
"Nothing after that. They thanked me for the information and left. I guess it's wait and see."
"I hate wait and see." Georgia grumbled, slinging a glance at Rhys when he chuckled next to her.
"Rhys and I are having a beer at the farm - you wanna join?"
"Can't tonight. Have plans."
"Ooooh, you gotta date?" She felt Rhys's eyes sharpen on her. Good. A little jealousy might prod things along nicely.
"Just dinner and a movie with Sophie."
"Well, you enjoy. Say hi from me." She hung up and looked at Rhys, "Skye can't make it, she's gotta date," she lied, satisfied at the frown that pulled his brows together.
4
"I'm on the early shift tomorrow, gotta head off." Rhys stretched and then reached out to ruffle her hair in farewell.
"Thanks for dropping by." She waved as he jumped into his car, watching until his tail lights disappeared. She liked Rhys. A lot. She'd known him since school, they'd been in the same grade and they'd become best friends. He'd spent as much time at her house as his own. Which was why he'd joined the police force. To be like her dad, Detective Pearce. Only her dad was now dead, killed along with her mom in a car accident five years ago. Seeing Rhys always reminded her of her loss and she cursed herself that she hadn't seen it coming. What use was a psychic gift if you couldn't save your own parents?
"Food. I need food." Two beers on an empty stomach had given her a buzz, and considering she was trying to be nicer to her liver, food seemed the appropriate, the adult and responsible, thing to do.
Rustling up some scrambled eggs she wolfed them down while standing in the kitchen, leaning against the cupboards. She'd been eyeing the fridge, trying to decide if another beer was a smart idea when the sound of tires crunching on gravel reached her ears. She straightened and placed her dirty plate in the sink before moving across the room to peer out the lounge room window. Her driveway was two hundred meters long, so she knew if she heard a car it had to be on her property.
A bright yellow jeep pulled up and a tall woman stepped out. She was stunning; blonde curls danced around her shoulders and positively sparkled in the moonlight.
"Hey." Georgia opened the front door and flicked on the porch light.
"Oh. Hello." The woman slammed the jeep door closed and moved toward her. She wore a fresh, floral wraparound dress that positively shouted summer time, and on her feet were a pair of wedges that gave her added height she most definitely didn't need. The woman was several inches taller than Georgia - she wouldn't have been surprised if she was a model. She was surprised to sense she was a vampire. Georgia could pretty much identify a species once they were within fifty feet of her. What she also knew was that supernaturals were a lot like humans - you got your good ones, you got your bad ones.
"I'm looking for Georgia Pearce." Her voice had an unmistakable accent. One of the famous author's entourage, no doubt. She wondered if he knew he had a vampire in his midst, then kicked herself mentally. Of course, he did - you've read his books Georgia, she scolded herself.
"I'm Georgia." She smiled in greeting but didn't offer her hand to shake.
"My name's Veronica. I live with Zak Goodwin - we've just moved into the house up the road from you."
Georgia had seen a few photos of the woman accompanying Zak around town on the local newspaper website.
"How are you settling in?" Georgia inquired politely, feeling frumpy, overweight and downright unattractive in front of the beautiful woman.
"A lot of work has to be done to the house, but we have a couple of rooms that are habitable while renovations are carried out. Which brings me to why I'm here. Your work has come to Zak's attention, and he would like to meet with you to discuss a couple of pieces he would like you to work on at the house."
"Oh?" Georgia raised a brow. She guessed when you were as rich as Zak you didn't have to do all the running around yourself and could send your girlfriend on errands for you.
"Zak will explain what is required. Is seven tomorrow evening suitable? It'll give you plenty of time to freshen up," the woman eyed Georgia up and down, her distaste at Georgia's appearance obvious. Georgia bristled, tempted to tell her that seven o'clock didn't suit, just to be di
fficult. But the truth was they needed the money a job like this would bring in. While the business was doing okay, and the rush thanks to Zak's fan girls had certainly helped, it was always a struggle to meet their financial commitments from month to month. Georgia drew enough of a wage to cover her mortgage and general living expenses but never had any left over for luxuries.
"Seven is fine. I'll see you then."
"Good." Without another word, Veronica spun on her heel and walked away.
Georgia watched until the jeep was out of sight. Well, she thought, dusting her hands off on the pants of her jeans, this should be interesting.
Pulling out her phone she texted Skye:
"Just met supermodel bitch. Lives with Zak. He wants 2 meet 2 discuss job."
"Fuck - he has a girlfriend?"
"Apparently. Veronica. Blonde bombshell - find her on Facebook."
"What job?"
"Don't know. Going 2 visit 2moro at 7. Will call u after."
The following morning, after another dream-filled night of phantom touches that teased but didn't follow through, Georgia was thankful she didn't have to deal with anyone at the shop and could hole up in her workshop instead.
Her workshop was, in fact, the old stone stable behind the house; she'd gutted it and turned it into a massive workspace, with a small home gym tucked away at one end. She'd done her best to retain the character of the building. She'd replaced the rotten floorboards, had the place wired for electricity and replaced the warped wooden windows with large shutter-style windows that she could open when the weather was nice and let the breeze flow through. Even after the renovations, she swore she could still smell horses in the old building - and loved it.
Her work gear consisted of worn denim shorts, a black tank top with washed-in paint stains, and scuffed work boots. Even in the heat of summer, Georgia wore her boots while working, better to have hot feet than losing a toe if she dropped a chisel or power tool.
Georgia had always been what her mom called a 'tomboy', more comfortable in jeans and t-shirts than dresses and heels. She usually only bothered with makeup on special occasions, which were few and far between. Her one feminine wile was her hair. Georgia loved her waist length, chocolate-colored hair. Left lose it flowed in natural waves down her back, different shades of brown and gold weaving through the silken strands. She usually wore it up in a high ponytail or a braid, and while she acknowledged it would be easier to look after if she cut it shorter, she couldn't bring herself to do it.
