Kiss of the Phantom (Forsyth Phantoms)

by Julie Leto

  “Your mother?”

  Mariah leaned forward, eyeing the wine Rafe had conjured earlier. Rafe took the hint and poured a goblet for each of them, and delivered the bowl of fruit, which she cradled in her lap. “She’s a curator at a museum.”

  “A curator?. Of a...?”

  She pressed her lips together, thinking hard before she explained. “A curator is someone who catalogs and researches the items that museums put in their collections for the public to see. That rock, for instance.”

  She nodded toward her dilly bag. “A museum that specializes in Romani history would probably pay a lot of money to have that stone. If museums that specialized in Romani history had a lot of money, which they generally don’t.”

  He nodded, but he had no idea what she was talking about. She seemed to intuit this, because she patted his knee encouragingly. “Don’t worry. You’ll catch on soon enough. Suffice it to say that in her line of work, my mother encounters many items of mysterious, even magical origin. She reads and hears lots, too. When I was a teenager, I went to live with her, so I heard the stories, as well.”

  “You did not live with your mother previously?”

  “I don’t want to spit the dummy,” she said, taking a long sip of wine.

  He arched an eyebrow.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’ve lived in the States for a decade, but I forget sometimes and revert to Aussie slang. Means I don’t want to lose my temper, so let’s pick another topic—unless you have another two hundred years for me to adequately explain the weirdness that was my childhood.”

  Rafe suspected he did not have another two centuries for discourse, but he found that he wanted to know more about Mariah and what circumstances had pushed her to the life she now led. She was, at the core, a thief—one who cared little for ownership and more for survival. He’d known her for only a few days, but he’d gathered that she followed a nomadic existence not unlike that of his people, and not unlike the life he might have lived if not for the accident of his paternity.

  He loved his father, but they’d had nothing in common. As much as the earl claimed to love the Gypsies, he had done little to plead for his people’s release from the king’s banishment. His father had argued that colonization was the best solution and that the Gypsies in Valoren were honest artisans with always enough to eat, but Rafe never could abide his imperialist attitude.

  He shifted so that his back leaned against the armrest. “And a phantom?”

  She mirrored his position, but pulled her legs onto the cushions, crossing them as one might when sitting around the village fire. He was thankful when she adjusted her robe modestly. “Well, there are lots of stories about them, but there’s no definitive definition. Some cultures equate phantoms with ghosts. Others view them as spirits of people sent to the other realms before their time, but who long to return to the earthly plane.”

  Rafe nodded. “Sounds accurate.”

  “But it doesn’t really matter what you’re called,” Mariah said, popping a grape into her mouth, chewing and then chasing the fruit with the wine. “The facts are thus: You possess magic, and I need some if I’m going to find those missing coins and get my arse out of Hector Velez’s sling.”

  Rafe remained silent. Without Mariah, he would not have found freedom from Rogan’s marker, even if only during the night. Despite his aversion to the idea of utilizing the dark magic again, he could not help but consider her situation. Mariah had proved herself clever and resourceful. He had no doubt that if anyone could figure out how to free him entirely from the stone, it was her.

  “I am listening,” he said.

  Her grin could have lit up the entire room. She wiggled in her seat as she laid out the details of her situation, unable to contain her enthusiasm. “After I stole the coins for Velez, I had to fly over the jungle in Chiapas to rendezvous with him at Villahermosa. I got word the Mexican authorities were waiting for me there, tipped off that I’d taken the coins from a dusty basement in Chajul, which I had. I put the coins in a padded bag, equipped it with a locating device called a GPS monitor, flew low over the jungle and dropped it. After I landed, I was boarded and searched, but the police found nothing, so they had to let me go, warning me to get the hell out of their country and not come back.”

  “But you defied their orders,” Rafe guessed.

  “Of course,” she said with a quirk of a smile. “I waited a bit, then trekked back into the jungle on foot, thinking I’d be able to retrieve the coins and get out before anyone noticed me. But the coins dropped in a remote area and the signals from the locator were imprecise. I heard the authorities were coming after me again, so I lit out. Now I’m in debt to Velez, and he’s on my trail.”

  “Those men in the hotel room?” he asked.

  She frowned. “I don’t know; it really doesn’t fit that those men worked for Velez. Whoever attacked me in the hotel definitely knew I’d taken Rogan’s stone. Velez wouldn’t know anything about Rogan.”

  “What about the man who chased you in Valoren?”

  “Ben?” She shook her head. “He’d never hire anyone to retrieve the stone from me. He’d do it himself.”

  Rafe crossed his arms. He’d never met a woman who could get herself in more trouble with more dangerous men—except, perhaps, his sister.

  She scooted closer. “Look, let’s deal with one problem at a time. No matter who is after your stone, I have to retrieve the coins before Velez has me killed. And trust me, that’s what he’ll do. If you could use your magic to give the GPS a boost, find those coins for me, then I can stop looking over my shoulder and concentrate on freeing you—permanently—before someone tries to steal the stone again, too. And you, since you’re a package deal.”

  As he took a long draft of wine, Rafe considered her proposal. He did not have to comprehend all of the details to find the simplest thread—she needed his help and he needed hers. The only thing holding him back from immediately agreeing to her plan was the fact that utilizing Rogan’s magic on such a scale was dangerous. Two women he’d loved deeply, Sarina and Irika, had died because of Rogan’s insatiable lust for power. And as wondrous as the sorcerer’s magic might have been when wielded by its master, it had not saved his sister from becoming a casualty to the man’s inherent evil. Nor, despite Rogan’s claims to want to protect the Gypsies, had it saved Irika from a mercenary’s knife.

  He shook his head. “There must be another way,” he concluded.

  Mariah slid closer to him and pressed her hand directly over his heart. “If it’s the madness you’re afraid of,” she said, her voice low and husky, “we know the antidote.”

  He opened his mouth to protest, but she covered his lips with her fingers.

  “Don’t say it. You’re not taking advantage of me any more than I’m taking advantage of you. I need your magic, and in return, you get hot sex with a willing woman. In this century, we call this a win-win proposition.”

  ***

  They remained in the cabin until their supplies ran low three days late, and still, Rafe had neither agreed to nor denied her request. She’d stopped asking. The man might be a phantom, but he wasn’t stupid. He needed time to consider the ramifications of and advantages to using the magic to help her out of a jam.

  During the nights, Mariah spent most of her time teaching Rafe Forsyth everything he’d need to know about the twenty-first century. Without a computer to check her facts, she focused mostly on the basics in areas such as world history, politics and religion. On the subjects she knew by rote—human nature, the sexual revolution and flying—they talked for hours, down to the most trivial detail.

  Well, on flying, Rafe mostly listened, though the wonderment in his gaze never faltered, even when she knew he was utterly scandalized by her treasure-hunting exploits. She’d shared a few of her more exciting stories about operations she’d pulled off in Egypt, Eritrea and the Sudan. Only when the subject had turned to Ben Rousseau had she’d skimped on the particulars. She didn’t like the
way Rafe’s eyes darkened when her former lover’s name came up.

  On most topics, Rafe proved a serious student, listening intently, asking pointed questions and trying to draw comparisons with his Romani society, which wasn’t always easy to do. And yet, she couldn’t help admire how open-minded he was. He had had the advantage of having been tutored by his formally educated brothers, but he’d lived in such a remote part of the world, with no opportunity to see more than one tiny corner of the universe, which, even in two hundred and sixty years, hadn’t changed. At least, not from the little she’d seen of it.

  Had she stayed with her father in the Northern Territory rather than moving to Sydney to thrust herself on her mother, her life might have been more like Rafe’s, only she didn’t have brothers who would have spared her the time to teach her anything beyond how to play a brutal game of rugby or the best way to skin a roo.

  They had not made love again, something that vexed Mariah just as much as it relieved her. Rafe was sexy and sensitive, smart and mysterious, but she accepted that making love for him was something more than just surrendering to physical urges. She couldn’t remember being with a man who ascribed any real importance to the act beyond satisfying pent-up needs. Not at least since Ben—and even then, what she’d believed to be the seedlings of true commitment for Ben had turned out to be nothing more than the stupid weeds of youth.

  During the day, Rafe slipped back into the stone to rest, not out of choice, but necessity. Mariah tried to sleep, but despite her cut-and-dried plan to exploit Rafe’s magic in order to solve her Velez problem, she tossed and turned until only sheer exhaustion overrode her whirling mind.

  And then, dreams plagued her. She watched Rafe morph from a light-eyed Gypsy who quirked one eyebrow when a modern attitude or expression amused him to a shadowed, black-hooded figure whose eyes gleamed orange-red like the center of the fire opal that contained him. She ran from him, slicing through thick jungle vines, pursued, terrified, until the ground dropped from beneath her feet and she fell into the nothingness, screaming Rafe’s name.

  11

  “Mariah ?”

  She bolted upright. She took several seconds to realize she was lying on the plush couch in the cabin and not dead and broken at the bottom of some rocky cliff. She blinked, rubbing her eyes until the pink light from outside the window no longer blinded her.

  “I’m awake,” she replied gratefully. “I’m awake now.”

  A whisper of a touch smoothed her cheek. It was not yet sundown, but Rafe was awake and toying with the state between phantom and man. Exhausted and unnerved by her dream, she couldn’t resist leaning into the sensation. Degree by degree, Rafe’s warmth washed away the terrifying images of her nightmare.

  “Your sleep was fitful,” he said.

  “Were you watching me sleep?”

  “How could I resist?”

  His invisible caress curled around her chin and lifted. Drowsy, she anticipated a press of lips. But like the ground in her dream, it never came.

  She tossed aside the soft blanket she couldn’t remember drawing over her body and shivered against the chill. Even in early summer, the mountains could be cold. Especially right before nightfall. She glanced longingly at the fireplace, but knew they’d stayed at the cabin long enough. Rafe hadn’t exactly agreed to use Rogan’s evil magic to help her find the coins, but he hadn’t denied her, either. If she was going to get out from under Velez’s threats, she needed to act.

  Besides, the sooner she paid back the collector, the sooner she could find a way to release Rafe from his cursed tether to the stone. Not that she didn’t enjoy having a man around who could make things appear out of nowhere and who needed hot sex to remain sane, but the situation was already hugely complicated. And if there was anything Mariah hated, it was complications.

  Ever since her breakup with Ben, she’d striven to keep things simple. Her business. Her attitudes. Her relationships. And though she hadn’t known Rafe Forsyth for long, she had more than enough evidence to conclude that he was the epitome of complexity.

  “Ready to go?” she asked, standing and shaking off the last of her lethargy.

  “Have I a choice?”

  “Good-point,” she said. She’d already packed the stone in her bag the night before. Still, she’d like to think she wasn’t technically forcing him to help her. He had, after all, agreed to go to the jungle with her before he determined whether or not he would call upon Rogan’s cursed magic to find the coins.

  No matter his decision, she knew she’d do what she could to free him, perhaps help him regain the life cut short by magic. Not that carrying around her own personal sex slave wasn’t tempting, but she was a thief, not a psycho.

  “We’re both better off if we get out of here,” she continued. “Staying in one place too long is never wise when you’re being hunted.”

  “Tell me about your dream,” he said, his voice caressing her neck.

  Instinctively, she curled her hair back behind her ear before shaking away the intimate sensation. “Sometimes people dream when they sleep. Not a big deal,” she replied curtly. Grabbing her jacket, she shrugged into the worn leather and headed toward the kitchen to gather the last of the rations.

  “Your dreams disturbed you. What did you see?”

  Determined to ignore the images still lingering on the edges of her consciousness, she shoved the beef jerky into a Baggie. “Nothing important.”

  “Then why did you call my name?”

  She spun in the direction of his voice, suddenly frustrated by his invisibility. Had she shouted out to him in her sleep? Even as she questioned herself, the echo of the desperate cry reverberated in her brain like a giant Chau gong.

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

  “You lie,” he accused.

  Since he was right, she did not respond, but stuffed the last of the apples he’d conjured into a plastic bin. Luckily, he did not press further.

  His presence lingered around her while she locked down the shutters on the windows, collected a few of the soft pillows and blankets, then made sure that the fireplace was emptied of ash and embers. His scent, as fresh and invigorating as the forest outside, teased her nostrils until she found herself smiling again, despite her disturbing dream and his probing questions.

  Once the chopper was ready for takeoff, darkness had descended and her mood had lightened. Rafe materialized and, as planned, had altered his appearance so that he no longer wore clothes that were centuries out of style. His hair swept his shoulders and his boots gleamed, but now jeans of butter-soft denim hugged his lean hips, and an equally supple blue shirt did amazing things to his silver eyes. He silently buckled into the seat beside her in the cockpit as they’d practiced, then stared at her expectantly, his mouth curved in an anticipatory smile that almost made her check to see if her blouse had come undone.

  “Something amiss?” he asked.

  The humorous lilt in his voice reminded her that he had a wicked talent for reading her emotions, which was only one step away from reading her mind. Mentally shaking off her libido, she concentrated on getting them into the air. Fifteen minutes later, they were headed at top speed to an abandoned airstrip outside of Boulder, where they’d initiate the first part of her plan. In the interest of her sanity, she concentrated on her scheme to get them out of the country and into Mexico unnoticed rather than on the way the blue instrument lights played against the jet-black shine of his hair.

  As a result, they did not talk. Out of the corner of her eye, however, she caught sight of Rafe staring out into the night, one hand pressed against the glass, as if he had to brace himself for the world outside. She tried to imagine what was going on in his mind as they flew over a landscape so foreign to him. Bright lights. Imposing buildings. The blur of cars darting down the highway. If she managed to pull this salvage operation off, he’d have a wondrous world to explore. And she’d be alive to show it to him.

  As the general concern of organizatio
ns like Homeland Security and border patrols tended to focus on keeping foreigners out of the United States rather than keeping their own citizens in, she figured it wouldn’t be too hard for her and Rafe to slip into Mexico unnoticed, especially by air. Until her screwup with Velez, the Mexican authorities had believed Mariah Hunter was the name of a tourist exploring the decadence of Cabo San Lucas or the real estate possibilities in the Yucatan peninsula. After her plane had been boarded and searched for the missing Mayan coins, however, the police had told her to never darken their doorstep again and her passport had been flagged. Well, she’d heard worse threats from more corrupt governments. She was probably still a wanted woman in parts of the Middle East and northern Africa. She wasn’t about to be frightened off now.

  At the airstrip, Ken and Jan Barkett met them with her Cessna. On the spot, they paid a fair cash price for her chopper, giving her more than enough money to finance this excursion. During the course of the transaction, they eyed Rafe suspiciously, but asked no questions. Mariah didn’t offer introductions. If Velez’s men accosted the Barketts again, she didn’t want them to know anything.

  From Boulder, she flew to Elsa, Texas, a town not too far from the Mexican border, where she knew of a guy who would help her and Rafe with forged documents, including passports, for two brand-new identities, just in case. A half hour before sunrise, she and Rafe snuggled together on a futon in the back room of the forger’s house to wait for the man to work his own brand of magic.

  Exhausted, she could not fight the contentedness that drifted over her when Rafe’s hand slipped across her belly.

  “The sun rises soon,” he said.

  Another entire night had passed, and they’d wasted his solid form by not making love. They’d refrained since the one time in the cabin, just as Rafe had refused to use any magic since then. Magic led to darkness, which led to sex. Rafe held fast to his pledge not to take advantage of Mariah to cleanse his soul, and Mariah, though not averse to being used in such a delicious way, had respected his choice. She had to keep her eyes on the prize—convincing Rafe to call on Rogan’s sorcery to help her find the coins.