by Bailey Cates
Relax. Allow. But I didn’t want to say anything out loud, break his concentration.
Whatever had fluttered at the edge of my senses veered away. I couldn’t say why, but I didn’t think it had been Franklin. It could have been anyone—anything, really—once Declan had opened to the other side. The thought speared alarm through my solar plexus.
What have I asked Declan to do?
I let go of his hand.
His eyes flew open, bleary and unfocused. For a second he didn’t seem to be home in his own body. But then he blinked and looked at me with clear, if confused, eyes.
“What did you do that for?” he asked.
“Did you feel him? Did I ruin it?” I leaned forward as Mungo slid his paws away from us and dropped down to sit on his chair with a look of mild disgust at our human antics.
But Declan shook his head. “I don’t think so. I tried to concentrate as much as I could.”
“I know, honey. Thank you for—”
“Hellooo!” Margie’s voice came floating over the fence. “That you, Katie?”
Instinctively, I blew out the candles, but we weren’t doing anything that would look suspicious. Well, maybe the bunch of herbs on the table were odd, but she probably wouldn’t even have noticed that.
“Of course it’s me,” I said. “Who else did you expect would be hanging out in my gazebo?”
She laughed, and her face appeared above the four-foot fence that separated our backyards. “I thought you might want to come over for a drink. The kiddos are in bed and . . . Oh, is that Declan?” I could tell she was trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “I’m so sorry. You two are having a nice, intimate evening, and I come barreling over to interrupt. Please forgive me!”
“We’re just sitting out here,” I said, directing an apologetic look at Declan, who still looked a little shaken despite our evident failure in summoning Franklin’s spirit. “You’re welcome to join us.”
“Well, thank you kindly, really. That is just so sweet. But I don’t want to be a third thumb, and, besides, I don’t want to be that far from the kids, especially Bart. You know?”
“Of course,” I said. “Maybe I could come by tomorrow night? Or the next? Deck here is going on his forty-eight-hour shift tomorrow morning, and I’ll be at loose ends for a couple evenings after work.”
“Oh!” Her tone turned upbeat again. “Well, I don’t want you to get lonely. How about in two days? I have a church thing after camp tomorrow.”
“It’s a date,” I said.
“All righty, then. I’ll just leave you two alone. There’s an Everybody Loves Raymond marathon I wanted to catch tonight, anyway.”
“Good night, Margie,” Declan called.
“G’night,” she responded, already halfway back to her house. “See you soon, Katie.”
“See you,” I said with a wave.
“She’s lonely, isn’t she?” Declan said.
“When Redding is gone,” I said.
“I’m glad I don’t have to leave you to your own devices for that long,” he said. Then he took my hand in his own again. “I’m sorry I couldn’t contact Franklin. I tried, but there was just nothing. Nada. Zilch.”
Not quite, I thought as I squeezed his fingers. “No worries. It was a long shot, anyway. It was very sweet of you to try.” I could feel the disappointment coming off him in the dark. He felt like he’d let me down. “Really,” I said. “And it’s okay with me if you never think about trying to contact anyone who has crossed the veil again. Connell was a fluke. Let’s just leave it at that.”
He made a sound of agreement.
I suddenly yawned so wide, I thought I’d crack my jaw. Quickly covering my mouth with my hand, I let the weariness of a day that felt chock-full of failure wash over me. “Time for bed,” I said.
“Really?” Declan asked with surprise. Because I required so little sleep, I rarely went to bed before he did and was always up well before dawn.
I nodded. “Yeah. I’m exhausted. Long day at work, not to mention trying to track down a voodoo queen. I’m about to fall asleep.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll be in a little later, if you don’t mind.”
“You okay?” I asked as I rose to my feet. Mungo jumped to the floor with a little thump.
“Sure. I just . . . want to think a few things through, is all,” he said.
I leaned over and kissed his forehead. “All right. I’ll be inside if you need me.”
He didn’t smile. He didn’t give me a squeeze or kiss me back, either. But, hey, we all need our space sometimes, and no doubt he really did have some introspection to wade through.
Inside, I shed my workaday clothes, which I felt like I’d been wearing for days, took a quick shower, and donned my version of pajamas: yoga shorts and a spaghetti-strap tank. In the dark kitchen, I drew a glass of water from the tap and looked out at the gazebo. Declan was sitting in the same chair, thinking goddess knew what.
Perhaps he’d tell me in the morning, before he went into the firehouse and I left for the Honeybee. In the meantime, I was going to get some shut-eye.
* * *
Yip!
Mungo’s bark brought me wide awake, heart pounding, hand reaching for Declan beside me in bed.
He wasn’t there.
Mungo barked again, bouncing on the bed and facing the doorway to the hallway on quivering legs.
A tall figure was outlined in the dark rectangular space.
“Deck?” I asked in a small voice, already feeling foolish. Who else would it be? But what the heck was wrong with Mungo?
But when he didn’t answer, I started to get scared. I reached for the bedside lamp and switched it on.
“Declan! Are you trying to scare the living daylights out of me?” I slumped back against the headboard, blinking in the bright light. “Mungo, hush.”
My familiar turned and glared at me. He bounded up on my stomach.
“Ooph. What is wrong with you?”
He got right in my face. Yip!
I jerked back, scared all over again, and looked up at Deck. “What the . . .” The words died on my tongue. The man looking down at me was my boyfriend.
Only, not.
“Deck . . . ?”
A knowing smile broke out on his handsome face, and one eyebrow rose suggestively as his eyes ran up and down my prone and barely clad form. “Aye,” he said.
Even a single word was enough to alert me to what had happened. I grabbed the sheet and covered myself. “Connell, you stop that!”
Mild disappointment mixed with amusement across the clean-cut features of the man I loved. “Ah, lassie. Don’t yer know how long ’tis been since I’ve seen anythin’ so grand?” The heavy Irish brogue made his words seem playful, but I wasn’t so sure.
“What are you going to do?” I asked in a small voice.
“Do? Och, Katie darlin’. ’Ave I managed ter frighten you again, and in so wee time? I’m only lookin’. Wouldn’t ’urt yer for the world.” He sighed, examining the sheet draped around me as if he could see right through it. “Oh, but it’s not a sin to look, now, is it? Most lassies would be flattered by the attention.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I have quite enough attention, thank you very much. And from the man who you’ve displaced from his own body.”
He actually looked a little sheepish.
Throwing off the sheet, I reached for my robe and cinched it tightly around my waist. Connell watched with appreciative eyes the whole time, but I ignored him. I’d be damned if I was going to cower, half-naked, in bed while some dead jerk possessed my boyfriend.
I turned to him and put my fists on my hips. “Now, why are you here?
He considered me, then moved across the room. I ducked out of his reach, still not trusting his motives. He lifted the curtain,
and looked out onto the street. “Things ’ave changed so since me day.” Looking back at where I now hovered by the doorway, ready to run out and go to Margie’s if I needed to, he added, “I do see the world from where I am, t’be sure. Watchin’ and guardin’ yer man here. Trust himself ter choose work that can git a man killed. Admirable, t’be sure. Foolish, as well.”
“Why are you here?” I asked again. “And what do you mean ‘from where I am’? Where are you when you’re not”—I waved my hand—“inhabiting your family member’s body? And do you know how hard it is on Deck when you show up like this? How utterly awful it feels for him?”
He smiled a sad smile and folded his arms over his chest. “In answer to yer last query, I wasn’t tinkin’ o’ that, I must admit. ’Tis only that—” He waved his hand. “You don’t know how lucky yer are ter be corporeal.” He looked so sad when he said it, but then Declan’s face lit up with another of Connell’s oversized grins. “An’ in answer to your first question, ’twas yer who opened ’is psyche up ter me. A wide-open invitation, if yer will. Candles an’ parsley and the like. Now tell me, how could I refuse ter come for a nice visit?”
“So when Declan tried to get in touch with Franklin Taite to help me, he opened himself to the other side, and you stepped through.”
He made a face. “Not exacly ter the other side, as yer put it. Only ter the place I inhabit.”
Which brought me to my second question: “Are you saying you’re not dead?”
“Hmm. Not so much. But not alive, either, Miss Katie.”
He smiled at the confusion that must have been on my face. “’Tis a purgatory of sorts. An in-between place. Me kind don’ exactly die.”
Chapter 12
I remembered the picture of Connell that Declan had shown me in the McCarthy family album. The man who was old when he married his young bride, the man who looked exactly the same as she grew older in the photos, down to the buckled jacket, jaunty hat, and high riding boots. The man who had left after his love’s death, never to be heard from again.
The man who had been rumored to be . . . nah.
They’re magically delicious singsonged in my mind. I shook my head to dislodge the earworm.
“It can’t be,” I muttered.
His eyes widened in surprise, and his laugh boomed forth before ending in a kind of cackle. Good thing the windows were closed, because I would have a hard time explaining to Margie the loud Irish guy in my bedroom in the middle of the night.
“Begorra! What is it yer thinkin’, then?”
“What kind of guardian are you if you don’t know your own legend in the McCarthy family?” I asked.
He laughed again. “And Declan ’ere passed it on ter you. Well, then. Let us jist say I’m ’uman enough ter be almost killed, but not enough ter die.”
I squinted at him in the dim light. “Who else is there in this purgatory of yours?” Could it be the same place a cursed soul in a coma on this plane might visit?
But sorrow crossed his features again. “I couldn’t tell you, lass. ’Tis a lonely existence—that’s for sure.” He brightened. “Which is why I so enjoy the company of the livin’! I choose me favorite from each generation of the McCarthys. A fella, t’be sure—I wouldn’t ken what to do with a girl child. Declan ’as been a bit of a challenge, don’t you know, what with all the fighting fires and romancin’ a witch.”
I tipped my head, considering him. “Can Declan contact the dead, then?”
“Och, no. Only me. ’Cause I chose himself, you see.”
“So, you can’t help us find Franklin Taite’s spirit,” I said.
Slowly he shook his head. “Sorry, Miss Katie.”
“You have to leave Declan, you know. You’ve already taken him over for longer than the other times.” A horrible thought occurred to me then: Was it possible that Connell could take over Declan indefinitely? I imagined him there in the back of Connell’s mind, off to the sideline in his own body, trapped and terrified.
“Connell!” I said. “Let him go! He didn’t mean to let you through. It was a mistake.”
Connell/Declan’s face fell. I actually thought I saw tears forming. “Well, now. T’be sure, I can’t stay,” he said, shoulders slumped. “It was pure nice spendin’ a bit o’ time with you, though, Miss Katie. Yer one in a million, and me fella has the luck of Eire ter know ye.” He closed his eyes, and I knew he was about to leave Declan’s body.
“Wait,” I said.
He opened his eyes, that eyebrow lifting in a gesture of wonder and possibly hope.
“Is there anything we can do here, on this plane, to help you get out of your in-between place?”
He looked down at the wooden floor of the bedroom. “That is a kind offer—a kind offer indeed.” He lifted his hands perpendicular to his sides. “I think I’d take you up on it, no matter which side I went ter, but there’s nothin’ you can do. At least not that I’ve knowledge of.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, and meant it.
“Tanks. Let me offer you something for your kindness.”
I waited, eyes wide.
“Ach. This voodoo is foreign an’ frightenin’ ter me. All I know is the object yer seekin’ is hidden between layers of magic.”
“The talisman? You can see it? Sense it?” The words tumbled out of me, and for a second I forgot this man was squatting in Declan’s body and had been about to leave.
“The talisman,” he confirmed, and closed his eyes again. Anxiously, I waited for Declan to come back to me, whole and true. Connell’s eyes popped open again. “Beware of someone new ter you, as well.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but then he was gone, and dear Declan stood looking at me in bewilderment, those gorgeous blue eyes reflecting the soul I’d already come to know and love so well.
I rushed to him and threw my arms around him. “Are you okay?”
He embraced me absently, muttering in wonder, “That was weird—really weird.”
I pulled my head back and looked at him. “And scary. I know. I shouldn’t have talked to him for so long.”
“Hmm. Scary, yes. But not as bad as it was before. Maybe I’m getting used to it?”
I stepped back now to stand by the bed. “Declan McCarthy, don’t you dare start inviting your uncle to come visit. It was bad enough waking up to find him ogling me. I have no intention of going to bed with you and waking up with him.”
He blanched. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Well, I sure did,” I muttered as I got back under the covers.
* * *
I didn’t sleep well, waking several times to check that it was really Declan snoring beside me. I was pretty sure he couldn’t have faked that snore, though. At four o’clock, I finally dragged myself out of bed, dressed, and went for a run. The morning breeze soothed my skin, and soon endorphins were running though my veins, lifting my spirits. My feet pounded against pavement as I passed beneath streetlights with no traffic to distract me. I found my rhythm, and my thoughts began to sort from one big, confused jumble into distinct categories of confusion.
My boyfriend channeled his possibly-a-leprechaun, not-dead-but-not-alive great-great uncle. I’d had a night of tossing and turning to let that sink in, but my mind still shied away from accepting it. Even though Declan’s mother had heard stories about Connell’s supernatural roots on a visit to track her relatives in Ireland, I’d never actually believed one of Deck’s ancestors could really be a leprechaun. He hadn’t, either, grinning as he told me the tale. He had also rightly pointed out that I couldn’t arbitrarily draw the line regarding what was possible and what wasn’t when I wanted him to believe in magic.
Okay, then. Uncle Connell, possibly immortal and in his personal purgatory, could possess Declan practically without warning. Check.
However, Connell hadn’t been the only thing muddying my half-do
zing thoughts. Dawn Taite was still in a mysterious coma. Franklin had been killed by a snake, possibly—no, make that probably—in some kind of sacrificial ritual. Dawn’s sudden appearance at the Honeybee, begging for my help, had been too desperate and alarming—not to mention her current state of mysterious unconsciousness—for there not to be a cause.
A curse. Place by a person, Katie. Someone is behind all this. Connell said to beware someone new.
The missing voodoo talisman had something to do with his death, my gut insisted. The image of Dawn’s fingernails scrabbling on the window glass in the bakery kept returning to my mental movie screen, becoming clearer each time rather than fading as most memories do.
The gris gris is missing. You must find it.
Well, there was Cookie’s friend, Poppa Jack. I didn’t want to believe, for her sake, that he embraced the dark side of voodoo. It didn’t make sense that he’d help me, either, by sending me to the voodoo queens.
Unless he was offering me a distraction from the truth.
Nah. We’d talked in that star-shaped garden at Magnolia Park. It was a sacred place, a witch’s place, and he’d taken us there to determine whether I was worthy of his assistance. I was pretty sure I could trust Poppa Jack.
What about the voodoo queens he’d directed Cookie and me to? Marie LaFevre had certainly had some strange items on offer in her shop, and summarily turned us away. Because she had something to do with Franklin’s death? Maybe. I hadn’t thought she was lying, but, on the other hand, Ms. LaFevre possessed obvious power. Though I didn’t like to admit it, her Voice could have worked on me after all—at least enough to make me think she was telling the truth.
Perhaps Franklin had her in his sights on his ongoing quest against evil. Even during our brief exchange, I suspected the woman would have little compunction about engaging with the darker side of voodoo.
Mambo Jeni was down and out, certainly, but evil? I couldn’t discount it, but I didn’t know what she’d have against Franklin and Dawn. Mostly I’d felt sorry for her. She might be willing to do just about anything to make a buck, though. So if Mambo Jeni was responsible for what had happened to the Taites, it was possible she was working for someone else. Talk about layers of magic. Ugh.
