by Julie Reece
She chews her thumbnail, and then says, “I could text Dane that we have an emergency, but he doesn’t check his phone much at work.” She squats to make eye contact. “Hey … should I call the fire department?”
Confined by the ivy, my headshake is a complete fail. “We can’t have this on the six o’clock news, Mags.”
“Right. You’re right.” Maggie swipes a pair of sweatpants from the floor and pulls them on under her thin nightie. “My dad has an ax in the shed. That’s what firemen use anyway. It’ll have to do since we sold our ‘Jaws of Life’ bolt cutters in the last garage sale.”
“Ha. Ha.” She’s just trying to keep things light, but my heart sinks. I don’t know how my friend thinks she’ll hack me out without chopping me to pieces, and oddly, that’s not even my main concern. I called the plants my jail, but a cage shields too, right? Protects, provides safety.
Hurting the vines feels like a betrayal. It’s stupid and illogical, but it’s also strangely true. Withering leaves, roots hacked and dying, it all makes me queasy, and I find myself wishing I could save them.
Maggie leans over, hands clutching her knees. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
“Oh, funny.” I glare at her through the leaves, but she’s already jogging out the door. “You should do stand-up!” I yell, hoping she’ll hear down the hall.
The longer Maggie takes getting the ax, the more uncomfortable I am with the plants’ impending doom. No matter how irrational, I can’t stand the thought of their destruction. A total reversal considering the claustrophobia I felt minutes ago. What’s wrong with me?
My head pounds with quick and sudden pain. Nausea worsens. The ground shudders and floorboards creak. Bed legs scoot and stutter with the mini-quake. I should be terrified, yet I’m suffering more for the plants that will soon die.
Then suddenly, like a snake waking from a long sleep, the vines begin uncoiling from around my body. Edgar hisses. I hear the thud as he jumps to the floor. Claws scratching as he scurries away. Starting with the thinnest ends, the roots loosen, leaves retract. Inch by inch, the vines unwind from my limbs. Released from my bonds, I arch to see the plants scuttle over the sill, retreating out the open window.
“What. The. Hell?”
I turn as Maggie drops the ax. The metal head hits the floor with a clang. “Rae … ?”
“Shh, I know.” Fearing any distraction will stop the migrating foliage from vacating our room, I plead with my eyes for her to keep still.
Leaves brush noisily against glass panes with the vines’ exodus, the sound lessening as the stragglers slide out and away. Once they’re gone, I roll to my knees and poke my head out of the window. Maggie joins me on the bed, and, side by side, we watch the last of the roots burrow into the ground of her parents’ yard. The soil isn’t disturbed. There are no holes, tunnels, or furrows to prove that what we just witnessed was real.
HO-LY CRAP.
“Raven?” Awe, fear, and disbelief leak though her tone, heightening the same feelings in me.
I stare at the dirt that swallowed the roots and feel a little like Jack and the Beanstalk, but in reverse. “They left when I told them to.”
“What?”
“At least, I think they did. When you went for the ax, I felt sorry for them. I wished they would leave so they didn’t have to die. And then they just … went.”
Maggie pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. Her exhale’s long and dramatic before meeting my gaze. “You felt sorry for the killer weeds?” I nod. “Honey, did you call the plants here in the first place? Lord help me, what am I even saying?”
“I was dreaming about plants, so I guess it’s possible.” Somehow, I’m now convinced the invading plants meant me no harm. In my dream, the connection between us let me know they were there for my protection—but from what? I’m thinking like a crazy person. Plants aren’t dogs. They don’t come and go on command. Or spring to life, cage humans, and then slink away again.
“You could have been killed. Strangled. Why would you bring them here? Or better yet, how?”
“I don’t know.” We’re both quiet, and then I add, “It’s happening again, isn’t it? The magic. Or I’m finally completely insane.”
“This wasn’t a nightmare, Rae. I saw it, too. If you’re crazy, I’m right there with ya.”
We stare out the window until my neck stiffens and my thighs go numb. Nothing happens. The roots don’t return. No giant Venus flytrap comes calling. “I think I’ll head over to Gideon’s and hang out.” I need to see him, feel his arms around me. Hear his smooth southern voice telling me we are going to be okay, and that we can have a life that is normal. If normal exists. “He’ll be back this afternoon.”
Her red hair stripe swishes with her nod. “Excellent notion, Rae, but I’m going, too.”
I wasn’t going to argue. No one stops Maggie once she’s on a roll.
“If you think I’m going to sit here all day waiting for a Little Shop of Horrors rerun, you really are out of your mind.”
Chapter Nine
Gideon
Another glance at my watch confirms Dane and Mags have been gone fifteen minutes. The same amount of time Raven’s been staring out the dining room window. Not that I’m complaining. While she watches the oaks in the garden, I get to study her. After a while, though, I miss the sound of her voice.
“Rae?”
No answer. Not even a blink. She’s growing more preoccupied, and I’m pretty sure she’s hiding something.
The hypocrisy isn’t lost on me, because I still haven’t told her about the Maddox Industries takeover and resulting financial ruin. Nor did I mention that I caught an earlier flight home to meet with Jenny and my butler Jamis. My staff accepted the bad news with their typical stoic dignity. Regular fixtures in the Maddox household, the pair assured me they would stay on indefinitely, even if I couldn’t pay them a dime. While Jenny cleared her throat and hurriedly left the room, Jamis—very uncharacteristically, I might add—seemed anxious to speak to me. We’d barely begun when Raven and Maggie surprised us at the front door and we had to postpone.
For now, Raven continues watching the yard. I follow the angular lines of her face and throat. Track her long, graceful fingers to their talented ends. I was supposed to have all the answers … take care of her. I can’t pretend that New York didn’t happen, much as I try. If I ignore the wall rising between us, brick by brick, fear and doubt will divide us. The thought of losing her hurts like a kick in the teeth.
I have to tell her, and I will. Tomorrow.
My lungs slowly fill. Even breathing seems more difficult with all the stress I’m under, and these daily headaches don’t help. I need time to sort everything out. Maybe Rae needs the same to work through whatever’s bothering her.
“Where are you today, woman?”
Did I mention patience is not my best quality?
She shifts to face me. Her black hair dips over one shoulder. I drop my pen to the yellow legal pad below me on the mahogany table. She smiles. I fake one in return, eyes narrowing playfully with an unapologetic grin. A challenge for her to deny me what I need.
Her gaze drops. She blushes with no idea how the pretty color affects my heart rate. When she looks up, I crook my finger, urging her closer. I’m sick to death of thinking, and plotting, and planning my way out of the next disaster. Holding her makes me forget.
Gray eyes flash. She meets my gaze with a slow, tantalizing smile. As though a bolt of lightning hits my chest, a feeling of wanting pumps from my heart, electrifying my veins.
“We’re working,” she says. “You promised to behave.”
I chuckle at that. “Does behave sound like a promise I’d make? You asked. I said nothing.” I jerk my chin toward the window. “Besides, you’re not working. You’re daydreaming.”
She glances to the trees and back. “No, I just … took a break.”
“Mm-hm. You reali
ze you’ve already completed the designs for Raedoxx’s spring line, pre-orders are off the charts. Leave your new ideas for the fall.” She glances at the sketchpad on her knee, and my conscience pokes an accusing finger. The poor girl designs for a company with no financial backing, but we’re not talking about that. Not yet. “Stop for a while. Be with me.” I stand and lean over the table, fingers stretching toward her in a predatory manner.
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you of all people.” Her expression turns indignant, but her tone is playful. “The great and powerful Gideon Maddox, workaholic tycoon.”
Was. Was a workaholic. The words cut, but it’s not her fault. She can’t know how her appraisal has changed.
Her gaze slides to the open books on my dining table. “Dane and Mags will be back from the kitchen any minute.”
“No, they won’t.”
I’m right and she knows it. They’re off somewhere making out. It doesn’t take this long to grab a snack from Jenny. If she thought we wanted anything at all, she’d have been in here ten minutes ago with enough food to feed an army.
Slow and easy, I make my way to Raven’s side of the table, as if she’s a bird that’s easily startled. “See what you’ve done to me? I’m actually the victim here. One woman cuts Samson’s hair and saps his strength, another seduces Mark Antony, or launches a thousand ships and starts a war … now, there’s you.”
The sound of her laugh warms me. “You stuck me in the evil woman category? How nice.”
My smile feels crooked. “You’re not evil.” I lean in, gripping the armrests on either side of her chair and trapping her between my arms. “Not entirely.”
“You think I’m trouble?” Her laugh is nervous and unsure this time. Good to know I still have that effect on her.
“Oh, I know you are.” I reach for her wrist, my fingers skimming her flesh. The feeling is incredible, like satin under my palm. Gently, I lift her to a stand. When my arms encircle her waist, her little shiver fans the embers inside me, sending my pulse into overdrive. “I think you enjoy torturing me, just a little.” Our proximity affects the room’s temperature. Or mine.
“I’m not trying to.” Her tone is serious. “We—”
“Shh, I know. I’m just messing with you.” My fingers brush her chin. “I understand.” And I do. She wants to wait. I respect that and her beliefs. Her teenage mother had an affair with an older guy, resulting in pregnancy before he abandoned them both. After losing so much, she needs security. Once again, I bury the knowledge that I can’t offer that anymore. My arms tighten around her. “I’d like to kiss you now, Raven, if that’s okay.” I’m proving a point. The attempt is untried and clumsy but sincere.
Her body relaxes into mine and she lifts her mouth. “Definitely okay.”
My lips capture hers in a soft, sensual taking. One arm flexes around her waist, while the other moves up her back, between her shoulder blades. The exotic, lotus scent of her hair intoxicates my senses. The person I was before wants to crush her beneath me, consume her, brand her with my love so she knows who she belongs to. But I don’t. Because what I need more than to fulfill any selfish desire is her confidence—for her to feel safe and protected with me.
My hand slides to her neck. Fingers thread through the hair at her nape, curling until they’re secured at the roots. I send my message of need and devotion through my touch, hoping it’s clear.
When she parts her lips, my tongue sweeps her mouth gently probing, exploring. Her hands inch up my arms to my shoulders, finally clasping around my neck. I absorb the heat from her body, raising the temperature in mine.
Capturing her bottom lip between my teeth, I worry the tender flesh with gentle violence until I feel her body weaken. She whimpers as I pull away. “Say my name,” I whisper against her neck. Her erratic pulse thrums beneath my lips, ramping my own heartbeat still higher.
“What?” The word comes out shaky, breathless.
“My name,” I urge. “Say it.” I pause, lowering my forehead until it rests against hers. Calm down, Maddox. I guess the beast isn’t completely gone …
“Gideon.”
I raise my head. Energy builds inside me as I follow the curve of her lips with my eyes. Kissing Raven is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before—with anyone. Lately, though, it’s different. If my mouth is made of gasoline, she’s the match. I’m a hot, exposed wire, and her touch is water. As I cover her mouth again, heat pours from my throat. My lungs expand, burn. I’m on fire.
“What the heck is going on in here?”
Raven’s hands find my chest. A hard push creates unwanted distance between us. My gaze darts between Maggie and Dane, who are standing in the doorway, and the fire blazing away in the middle of the dining room table.
Fire?
Sure enough, one of Raven’s thick sketchpads is engulfed in blue flame. Smoke curling toward the ceiling.
I sweep Raven behind me with one hand, and snatch my jacket off the back of a chair. As fabric smothers the burning book, Dane tosses whatever liquid is in the pitcher he’s holding over the small inferno.
The flames die. Smoke chugs a few gasping puffs before sputtering out. Everything’s done in seconds, but …
“What the hell?” Dane asks.
Exactly.
I stare at the table, as though it’s capable of explaining how a book spontaneously combusts. Scowl firmly in place, I pick through the scorched items on the table: pens, paper, a magazine, some junk mail. “There’s nothing here to ignite, nothing electrical, no accelerant.”
I’ve seen my fair share of magical happenings in this house, but I’d hoped breaking the curse meant an end to the supernatural.
Maggie’s erratic glance darts from Dane to me. “It was a fluke, right? Please say I’m right. I can’t take any more today.” The words spill fast and urgent. The death grip she’s got on a tray of cookies bleaches her knuckles white.
Dane pries the tray from her hands and places it on the oak credenza behind us.
“My poor sketchpad … all that work.” Rae sneezes repeatedly. “Sorry. Soot up my nose.”
Maggie stares at the charred remains. “Ohmigosh, I know, but how weird. Rae, don’t you think this is getting scary?”
Her nervous chatter grates on my last nerve. No longer ignorant of ghostly specters, she and Dane were here the night my stepmother Desiree tried to strangle Raven with her undead hands.
Rae grabs my arm. “It’s like the other night in your study … ”
Her pained expression twists my gut, knowing how badly she needs peace. Paranormal activity seems the antithesis of all things peaceful, but the past year taught me that while a person’s mind can deceive them, truth is constant. Reality can’t be changed or manipulated just because you don’t like it. When Raven finally broke through my denial, we acted together based on facts.
And the fact is this isn’t our first unexplained fire.
“What happened in the study?” Dane is all hard angles with an even harder head. He doesn’t trust me, and though Dane’s with Maggie, he and Raven share an iron bond of friendship that I’m forced to acknowledge.
I don’t take orders, I give them. But for Rae’s sake, I ignore his demanding tone. “I kissed her.”
“So not the part I meant,” Rae says, a blush creeping over her skin.
Dane rolls his eyes, which I find both amusing and patronizing since he and Maggie rarely come up for air.
“We had a fire going in the fireplace. I just wanted one for fun, and for atmosphere.”
I grin. “And s’mores.”
“That, too,” she concedes. “The room got super hot, and the fire went crazy. I didn’t think any more about it until today.”
Now might not be the best time to mention the mysterious burning light socket in my hotel room.
Dane studies the soggy, ruined sketchpad. His long dreads hang down his back in thick ropes. “Weren’t you two at it again, j
ust now?”
I bark out a laugh. “You think my kissing Raven starts fires?” She focuses on the toes of her boots, an act I find both sexy and sweet.
“Why not? You’re the one with the voodoo, man.”
My smile hardens.
Maggie slides a hand under Dane’s arm. She’s petite and fair next to his dark and obviously annoyed body.
Rae sends me a pleading glance, and I relax my shoulders. There’s a point at which the beast inside may lose patience, but not today.
“Excuse me, sir.” Jamis appears in the doorway behind Dane and Mags. My employee is hunched, bald, covered in liver spots, and about a hundred and fifty years old, but there’s no one more loyal to our family. “There’s a gentleman here to see you.”
“Not a good time. As you can see, we’ve had an accident. Will you ask Jenny to step in please?”
“Yes, sir. Of course, but … ” The guy has so much white hair sticking out of his nose, he looks like he’s sneezed a scrub brush. “If you’ll forgive my insistence, I think you’ll want to see this visitor.”
Exasperated, I pause. No doubt my impatience is clear in my heavy exhalation. “Oh? And why is that?”
“Because the gentleman is Master Cole Wynter, sir.”
Chapter Ten
Cole
I freely admit I’m not the bravest guy ever. Walking up to Gideon’s house earlier today produced a coughing fit, dry heaves, and finally my lunch. There’s some small satisfaction in that, I guess—defiling Gideon’s manicured bushes with my vomit. While the act of returning to the place of my imprisonment makes me physically ill, the thought of returning to France without answers is unthinkable.
Nerves scramble over my skin like tiny spiders as I wait for Maddox in his imposing library. The room is unchanged. The smell of age, and dust, and pipe tobacco permeates leather book covers and antique rugs. Light streams in through the window at my right. It’s early summer and bright, but the weather does nothing to ease the chill in my veins. I’m here as a flesh and blood human this time, yet the Déjà vu is even weirder than I’d anticipated. That’s saying something, since I’ve become quite a coinsurer of weird.
