“That’s great news, Lyle. Now we should—”
“I didn’t want to come, you know. I kicked and screamed all the way from Hannibal, but Mary kept saying that if I didn’t want my one true love to slip away, then a road trip to see you was just the ticket. She said I had to be straight with you, or you wouldn’t have anything to do with me, and I was.”
There was no stopping him. It was as if he’d come to life overnight. He circled the room, pausing only as he noticed the decorations for the first time.
“You people celebrate Christmas?” he asked with surprise.
Jade wasn’t offended; unlike many, Lyle didn’t utter you people in a negative manner.
“We call it Yule,” she explained.
“Oh. Don’t worry, by the way. Mary told me most people think you’re just an herbalist, and I can’t ever tell anybody otherwise—you know, about what you do. Though why you do it here is beyond me. If my parents hadn’t gotten married in January forty years ago this weekend, I sure as heck wouldn’t be back here now. Not in Missouri in the middle of winter, no way. I would’ve begged off this trip.”
“Come on,” Jade urged. She turned toward the door in an attempt to move Lyle on to the next step, as there was still work to be done. “Let’s go into the conservatory and—”
“But what was the point in staying in Pensacola if Brenda was marrying that lowlife, right?” Lyle motored on, then shot his arm in the air, and shouted, “Mason Kincaid, eat your heart out!”
Jade’s lips twitched with amusement. “How many cups of coffee have you had this morning?”
“Five maybe six, I lost count,” he said, running the words together.
“Lyle!”
He grinned. “Sorry. I’m just so happy.”
“You have what you want.”
“Yes!”
“Right. Then it’s time to thank the spirits for acting so quickly. Let’s go into the—”
“Can’t. I’m on my way to the airport now.”
“Oh,” Jade said, taken aback. Generally clients were awed by her skills and followed directions without question. Some out of gratitude; some a little bit afraid of her, though no one ever said so. “But we’re not finished.”
Regular clients—ones not shoved through the front door by well-meaning sisters—never left early. More work needed to be done to ensure Lyle’s success in the relationship department. It was precisely why Jade preferred working with fully committed guests, the ones who made their own reservations and arrived on their own.
“It already worked,” Lyle said with finality, clearly meaning case closed.
“Yes, and now you have to—”
“I have to get to the airport.”
Jade blew out a breath, hoping he’d notice her exasperation and come around. Seconds passed. She couldn’t very well hog-tie him to the hearth.
“Let me give you something before you go, then,” she acquiesced. “It’s important. It’ll take just a second.”
She left the study immediately, leaving no room for argument.
When the coffee wore off, Lyle would be afraid that Brenda would leave him again, just as before, so Jade had assembled a charm bag. The pouch contained elements chosen just for him. Its purpose wasn’t to keep Brenda with Lyle against her will, that would be wrong, but it would remind him to nurture his second chance at love. Carrying it would lend some stick-to-itiveness.
Jade returned to the study, and as she placed the red flannel bag in Lyle’s hand, she curled his fingers over it, and hers over his. She held his attention, demanding his focus as she instructed him with a sense of urgency.
“Keep this on you every day,” she said. “It’s small. It won’t be noticeable in your pocket.”
“What’s in it?”
“A romantic charm.”
Lyle danced from one foot to the other. He’d never stay long enough to learn about a postbreakup cleansing spell for Brenda.
He said, “I’ll check it out later.”
“You should. It’s important you identify with it.” He’d understand the birthstone beads she’d sewn to the drawstrings, and the engraved, entwined silver rings inside. Not so the rest of it.
Lyle turned the bag to and fro in his hand, testing its weight, the feel of the contents. With a sly grin, he said, “This won’t get me arrested at the airport, will it?”
“Not unless there’s a new ban on goat tail hair that I haven’t heard about. Or spikenard root. Now this”—Jade handed him a small glass vial—“is oil infused from the root. Add a drop to the bag every Friday.”
“You really think I’ll need this? I mean, she called me. I think she’s hooked,” he said with a boyish grin.
“Every Friday,” Jade reiterated. “Like clockwork.”
“Okay.” That settled, Lyle darted toward the front door like a kid who’d heard the recess bell. “Thanks again for everything, Jade. If there’s ever anything I can do…I mean that.”
Outside, he ran across the snow-covered garden rather than follow the meandering flagstone walk to the driveway. He managed to stay on his feet, but then nearly took out the curbside mailbox with his rental car.
Lyle’s abrupt departure left a few loose ends, which Jade disliked. Restless and uncomfortable, she stood in the open doorway, lifted her chin, and let the cold wind blow away all lingering negativity.
Her spirit renewed, she withdrew to the soaring glass-and-stone conservatory that filled an entire wing of the house. There she sought a peaceful conclusion, to tie everything up in a neat package.
She selected a long white taper from a cabinet darkened with age, rubbed it with fragrant oil—one of her special blends—and sprinkled it with powdered orris root. Holding it in both hands, she closed her eyes and, working from the ease that came since practicing the Craft at her grandmother’s side, quickly called her emotions to the surface.
Energy began to flow, to surge through her body like current through a wire. Jade directed that energy into the candle, charging it, focusing the powers of the universe on the matter at hand—Brenda’s jilted fiancé—as she said,
“The all-seeing eye of fairness and love
Shines down and sees from far above
That whomever Brenda jilted, whatever his game,
He deserves someone better to take his name.
So no more heartache and no more trouble,
True love he finds, on the double!”
Jade set the taper into a niche in the stone wall and lit it. The spell was done. Rarely did one of hers require more involved ritual, though she often embellished for paying guests. Over the years she’d discovered that “elaborate” and “involved” were directly proportional to referrals, which is how she’d dug Mystic Manor out of its financial quagmire after her parents had passed the family home on to her.
If she’d left the conservatory then, everything would have been perfect. But after the effort spent on saving Lyle’s romance, after seeing how his sister’s had progressed over the past year to impending motherhood—well, it nagged at Jade, all of it. Pointed out her shortcomings in the relationship/propagation department. Made her want to take control.
Some people cooked for others. Some sewed for others. Jade cast spells, mostly for others. It was what she did, how she gave back for the gift she’d been given, and she enjoyed helping people, but now it was time she did one for herself. Six years alone was long enough. She and her husband had planned to have children, and Doug was a sweetheart of a guy who wouldn’t want his unfortunate disappearance to prevent her from having the family she always wanted. It was time to at least open herself to the possibility of a partner.
He, whoever he might be, had to be the right man for her to marry. Trustworthy to a fault. A calm, even-tempered individual, able to deal with needy people traipsing in and out of Mystic Manor on any given day. Smart. Funny. Helpful. Really open-minded. Eager to have children, along with the ability; mustn’t forget the ability. Loyal, truthful. Good-looking, much
taller than her five-eight, sexy as all get-out—and why not? The universe held everything she wanted, as long as every step of her request was letter-perfect.
Timing couldn’t be better; there was a new moon today. With the power of new beginnings behind this spell, she could meet and capture the heart of Mr. Right very soon.
Jade selected another taper, anointed it with oil, and rolled it in an herbal blend that felt personal to her, a combination of lavender, rosemary, and vanilla. During every step, she focused on all that she wanted and needed. For many witches she’d mentored over the years, focus was the crucial step that so many glossed over, with poor results.
Holding the candle, she closed her eyes and spoke from the heart.
“Spirits who see from far and near
Know the values I hold dear.
I am still here, alive and real.
Enough time has passed for my heart to heal.
It’s time to love a man who is good
So life can go on as it should.
In this department, grant me every desire
And send a man who lights my fire,
A man who is loyal and true.”
Unbidden, an image popped into her head. Feeling a little impish, she grinned and impulsively agreed:
“A Pierce Brosnan clone will do.”
Well, why the heck not? That’s what wishes were for. If Mr. Right came in the perfect gift wrap, who was she to argue?
Match to wick, the second candle joined the first in the niche, along with a rose quartz. Finished, Jade walked away; the spells would work their magic without her presence.
No sooner had she closed the door to the conservatory than the spirits, normally so cooperative, added their own two cents. Hot wax breached the rims and began to drip down both tapers. Slowly at first, then faster as the heat was boosted with another wave and yet another, the white rivulets meandered across the stone base of the niche like lava seeking a path across rocky terrain.
At the midpoint, they pooled, intermingled, and solidified into one.
Chapter 2
A nthony searched high and low for Mason throughout Sunday and into Monday morning. He’d tried keeping tabs on him in the bar Saturday night, but at one point one of them had gone to the john, and they’d gotten separated.
Running out of places to search, and on the outside chance that Mason had been so bent he’d ended up in the honeymoon suite, Anthony finally checked the hotel.
“This is sick. You’re sick,” he said scathingly when he found Mason in the king-size bed, sound asleep, half-buried by a dozen satin pillows that ran the gamut from red, to white-with-red-hearts, to heart-shaped.
All froufrou; totally Brenda. All a man like Mason wanted was one regular-size, same-as-he-grew-up-with pillow, and he was happy.
“Wake up!”
Mason stirred at last, unaccustomed to anyone entering his territory and shouting at him like a drill sergeant. He tossed frilly pillows adrift, completely oblivious to the metallic crunch of empty beer cans as he rolled over them.
Anthony wrinkled his nose. A honeymoon suite should smell like roses. This one rivaled a distillery.
“I can’t believe you stayed here. What on earth were you thinking?”
Mason cracked his eyes open, squinting and throwing his arm up to block the midmorning light. “What the hell?”
“Exactly.”
After they’d left the church, Anthony had decided that if his best friend and partner wasn’t married, then his best friend and partner was going back to work. They’d both planned to take this week off, Mason on his honeymoon, Anthony skiing, but getting Mason back on his feet was more important. Even more important now that Anthony had seen how low he’d sunk.
“I’ve been lining up a job so you can get out of town and forget all this, and you’ve been”—Anthony scanned the suite with a disgusted scowl—here.”
It quickly became apparent that Mason was far beyond inferring anything from whatever Anthony said or did as, arching his back, he slid his hand between it and the mattress and pulled out one minibar bottle after another. He tossed them carelessly, didn’t bat an eye as they banged the wall and cracked the lamp. Seemed he didn’t care much about anything except closing his eyes and passing out again.
“No way, man.” Anthony shook him without success. Time to step up the assault. Poking through an assortment of clear and brown and green bottles, which clearly outnumbered the squashed cans, he barked, “Since when do you drink this stuff?”
Evidence said Mason had gone through a couple dozen, and those, all without caps, all empty, were just the ones currently visible.
“Get up. We’re leaving.”
“Must you keep shouting?”
“I’m not—” Anthony lowered his voice. “Get dressed. We have to be at the airport in an hour. My uncle got us a job. Surveillance.”
Mason wasn’t listening. He stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it vigorously, as if he wasn’t thinking clearly yet knew something was amiss. “You hear the shower?”
“Come on. Up, up, get dressed.”
As Mason lay back and shoved more bottles and cans out of nose range, Anthony realized they weren’t leaving anytime today unless he took charge. If the babe who’d been following Mason around Saturday night was using the shower now, well, there’d be no getting him out of this suite until he was darn good and ready—that could take a while after Brenda’s crazy six weeks of enforced abstinence—so Anthony picked up one slightly damp shoe, prayed to God it was liquor and not something yellow, and got down on his knees to look under the bed for the other.
He kept talking during this, hoping that as Mason heard details, his instincts would kick in and sober him up. No need to tell him just yet that the job was out of state.
“Three guys took out large life policies six years ago and then disappeared. Together. The county’s issuing presumptive death certificates. A year late, which is curious, but I guess no one was in a hurry. Are you getting any of this?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’d better be, because we start today. My uncle already has teams on two of the widows. We’re staking out the third. They’re all friends, all still single, so to speak, and no surprise here, all have somewhat shady reputations in the community. The company’s betting the alleged dead guys will sneak in just long enough to collect the checks. Maybe even the wives, who knows?”
Paying around-the-clock surveillance teams would be a lot cheaper than issuing three million in death benefits.
“What are you doing?” Mason asked, peering over the side of the bed at Anthony. Obviously no instincts kicking in there.
“Looking for your other shoe.”
“Shouldn’t I get dressed first?”
“Got it.” Anthony whipped up the bottom of the sheet and crammed a shoe onto Mason’s right foot.
“Ow. Hey, you got it on the wrong one.”
“Trust me, after thirty years, I know the difference.”
“It’s too small.”
“If you start whining, I’ll quit feeling sorry for you.” Anthony slapped on the second shoe. It was a tight fit, but he made it work. The shower stopped, and he said, “Let’s get out of here.”
“These shoes aren’t right.” Mason lifted his head off the pillow, but nothing else followed, so he just stared at his feet.
The bathroom door swung inward then, only it wasn’t the beautiful babe standing there with a short towel draped around her. It wasn’t even a pity date. Hairy chest, legs of steel—the guy looked vaguely familiar, but Anthony hadn’t seen him half-naked before.
And then it came crystal clear.
“Well, you dog, you,” Anthony said with a sly grin at Mason, who was blinking in confusion. “When I said the bartender was cute, I meant for me, not you.”
With a horror-stricken expression, Mason shot out of bed, denying everything, but his foot caught in the tangled sheet and tumbled him flat on his face on the carpet.
Anthony nudged him to see if he was out. Had to be; a guy didn’t gash his face on a bottle like that without knocking himself senseless. A little tape would hold the skin together. They could spin by Mason’s condo, repack his bags for snow and ice, and still make the flight. Better get him to Missouri and in place before he sobered up, because he sure was gonna be pissed when he didn’t wake up in Aruba.
Jade spent Monday morning removing the last of the Yule decorations throughout Mystic Manor, and a large part of the afternoon preparing for Imbolc, or Candlemas as West Bluff’s church-loving population liked to call it. She was in and out of the conservatory numerous times, getting candles, placing them in every window and room of the house, ready to be lit at sunset. Never once did she feel that something was out of place until daylight began to wane. Then the hair on the back of her neck suddenly stood up.
Not a good sign.
She retraced her steps toward the conservatory until the feeling was strongest, right by the stone niche where, as a habit, she left dripless spell candles to burn. Right by the solidified pool of wax where there should have been nothing.
“No,” Jade whispered. Her pulse skittered with alarm. She stared hard at the wax, struck immobile with a sense of disbelief.
Sure, she was unhappy with the mess, the way the wax had oozed into every dip and crevice and then hardened, but that paled in comparison to two different spell candles running together. How many times had Aunt Helen thumped her on the head and warned her that every misplaced word, every poorly calculated action, had consequences?
“How did this happen?”
More important, How the heck do I undo it?
All of Jade’s tapers were supplied by Annie, one of her closest friends. They were hand-dipped and never dripped. Never. This had disaster written all over it. No way Jade could pretend there was no significance. The universe was too organized for things like this to happen without consequences.
She dug at the waxy white lump with her thumbnail and lifted off a small slab, but so what? The damage was done. The spell had more than enough time to begin to work. Possibly too long to break.
Witch in the House Page 2
