Dream Under the Hill (Oberon Book 8)

by P. G. Forte

  Lucy glared angrily as Scout fled from the terrace. “Why the fuck does she have to act like that?” she demanded. “I mean, it’s not like you’re asking her to donate an organ.”

  Marsha smiled. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? She’s afraid.”

  “Well, that’s just ridiculous. What’s she got to be afraid of? She’s a grown woman, isn’t she? She should be over it, by now. Besides, you’re her friend. You need help. She ought to just... step up to the plate and do something about it.”

  “It’s not that easy, Lucy. You know that. And, you can’t just do... anything. There are repercussions, consequences, all sorts of things to consider. Some mistakes just aren’t that easy to put right.”

  Lucy shook her head. “I’m not buying it. That’s just defeatist bullshit. Since when do mistakes get fixed by doing nothing?”

  Marsha sighed. “It depends on the mistake, doesn’t it? Sometimes, what seems like a good idea at the time, can have terrible consequences.” A ghost of her usual smile flitted briefly across her face as she added, “But, then again, maybe you’ve never made that kind of mistake?”

  Lucy glanced at her suspiciously, but there was no anger to be seen on Marsha’s face, no recrimination in her gaze. No sarcasm in her tone.

  “The hell I haven’t,” Lucy muttered, feeling even more guilty than before. She picked up her cup and drained the last, cold dregs of espresso from it, then fidgeted with the lemon rind that had accompanied her drink. She knew Marsha was waiting for her to say more, but... she couldn’t. I have no business calling Scout a coward, she thought sadly. I’m just as big a chicken shit as she is. She was only surprised she hadn’t realized it before.

  “Luce?” Marsha prompted, “Wanna talk about it?”

  Lucy shook her head. “No.”

  Marsha ran her finger along the edge of her saucer. “You do realize that…things aren’t the way they used to be. I’m not gonna be able to guess what you’re thinking unless you tell me.”

  “I know.” Realize it? I’m fucking counting on it. For the life of her, she could not find the guts to own up to Marsha about her really big mistake – the one that had robbed Marsha of her abilities, and driven a wedge into her friendship with Scout.

  She and Marsha had been best friends their whole lives. Yet, last October, when push came to shove and she had to choose one of them to save, she’d chosen Scout. Maybe out of guilt, maybe out of loyalty, maybe because, of the two of them, Scout had seemed the more vulnerable, the one with the most to lose. Or maybe I just panicked. Maybe I wasn’t thinking, at all. Whatever the reason, the results were the same. She’d ditched protocol, deep-sixed the call back sequence, grabbed hold of Scout’s arm and woke her up first.

  And, ever since then– “It’s just…It’s just shit. That’s all.”

  “Oh. Well. I guess that sums it up, then,” Marsha sighed. “Whatever it is.”

  * * *

  “Well? What do you think?” The note of suppressed excitement in Sinead’s voice had Adam wanting to cringe. “It turned out nice, didn’t it?”

  He glanced around in disbelief, glad that her question had been directed at Scout, because he was pretty certain Sinead would rather not know what he thought of her handiwork. The room she’d had decorated for their daughter’s nursery was gorgeous. It was also his very worst nightmare.

  He ran his hand through his hair, resisting with difficulty the urge to tear some of it out by the roots. If he were lucky, it wouldn’t hurt – thereby proving that this really was just a bad dream.

  Unfortunately, he wasn’t feeling all that lucky.

  “It’s... absolutely... stunning,” Scout replied. Which was the most carefully worded evasion Adam had ever heard. He glanced at his stepsister curiously. She knew how he felt about his grandfather, she had to know how the thought of naming his daughter after the old goat must rankle, but her face was as carefully composed as her words had been; it told him nothing.

  On the other hand, what did he need her to tell him? That the road to hell really was paved with good intentions, just like everyone always said it was? That, at least, would explain his current location. Because, he’d cast his spells with the best intentions in the world, and they’d landed him here.

  Hell, it appeared, was mostly green, with pink and lavender accents. It had an enchanting mural painted on one long wall, a repeating border of pale yellow poppies situated just above the ivory wainscoting, and the devil’s name emblazoned on almost every available surface.

  How very apropos.

  “Victoria,” Scout repeated the name thoughtfully. She shot a puzzled glance his way, and then turned to Sinead. “It’s an interesting choice for a name. Was it something you had in mind for a while?”

  “Not really,” Sinead said, absently rubbing circles on her belly, not looking at either of them. “Just since November. Adam didn’t care for it, at first.” She turned then and looked questioningly at him, over her shoulder. “But, it’s grown on you, hasn’t it?”

  How the hell do I answer that? Adam wondered. He shrugged. “I thought we were going to wait until after she was born before we labeled anything?”

  Sinead sighed. “Yes, but... that’s just a silly superstition, Adam, not wanting to give her a name until after she’s born. I needed to name her. Besides, there’s no reason not to, you know. She’s going to be fine. She’s going to be just fine.”

  He could feel her need to be reassured, so he smiled and nodded. “I know. She will be. So will you. Everything will be fine.” And as soon as they got this name business straightened out, everything would be perfect.

  “Also, I really don’t want to have the painters come back again once she’s here. I don’t think the paint fumes would be very good for her.”

  Ah, but, the painters will be back, Adam thought; as well as the rest of the crew. They’d worked Victoria into everything, damn it. It was on the bedding, the furniture, the wall hangings, the closet door; hell, it was even carved into the moldings. And, fumes or no fumes, he’d see each one obliterated, if it was the last thing he did.

  He watched as Sinead, happily oblivious to his plans, took another glance around, nodding in satisfaction. “Well, I guess I should get back to work now,” she said, as she headed toward the door.

  “Wait,” Scout called, stopping her before she could leave. “Before you go, I wanted to let you both know that I’m throwing a joint birthday party for Nick and Cole on Sunday afternoon. I hope you’ll come?”

  “Of course,” Sinead agreed. “It sounds like fun.”

  Fun? Oh, hell, no. Adam shook his head. “Actually, I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it. Sunday’s usually a pretty busy day in the tasting room, you know. I don’t know if I can get away.”

  “Adam, it’s not that busy,” Sinead chided. “You could go if you wanted to. You’re just being childish. Besides, what about your nephew—it’s his party, too, you know. Are you really going to let him down like that?”

  Adam frowned. “I’m not letting anyone down. Cole will have plenty of attention. He’s not going to miss me. And I’m not being childish, I’m being thoughtful.” He turned to Scout and shrugged. “You know it as well as I do, kiddo. The best present I could possibly give Nick would be to stay away from him.”

  Scout gazed at him unhappily. “Adam, please. I’m not asking for him. I know how difficult Nick’s been lately. I’m asking for me. I really do want you to be there. It’s important to me.”

  How could it possibly be that important, Adam wondered, but both women were looking at him expectantly, waiting for his answer, and how could he let them down? “All right,” he agreed, shaking his head as he thought about just what he was agreeing to; apparently, Hell had an annex, now. Fantastic. “All right, I’ll be there.”

  “Well, good.” Sinead smiled encouragingly. “Now that we have that settled, I really have to run. I’ve got afternoon tea to prepare at the inn. Have a nice lunch, you two. I’ll see you both later.”

&n
bsp; The minute she was gone, Scout turned to him. “Victoria? Adam, what is she thinking? What were you thinking? Haven’t you told her anything about your grandfather?”

  “Of course I have,” he said, turning to stare out the window, at the vineyards his grandfather had planted. Would he ever be free of Victor’s influence? Adam had taken the winery over, he’d taken this mansion for his own home, he’d done everything he could think of to put his own stamp upon the place. But, still his grandfather’s specter continued to haunt him; as though the old man’s spirit had been rooted here, as deeply as those vines, impossible to remove without killing the whole plant, or without poisoning the soil for miles around. “I’ve told her – she’s just not making the connection. She doesn’t understand how impossible this is.”

  “But I don’t get it. Why doesn’t she understand? Don’t you two talk?”

  He sighed. “Look, she sprang the whole name thing on me when she was in the hospital last November. I couldn’t really argue with her at a time like that, could I? I thought I was going to lose them both! Afterwards, it always seemed so important to her, and I just... I didn’t want to upset her.”

  Scout nodded sadly. She glanced around the room. “Oh, well, I guess you’re stuck with it now.”

  “No.” Adam shook his head emphatically. “She’s just scared that’s all. That’s what this is about. Once the baby is born, then we’ll talk. She’ll see reason. You’ll see.”

  Scout studied the room for a moment longer. “Well, you sound pretty sure of yourself, Adam, but I don’t know. You may have done too good a job of convincing her that you’re okay with it. Sinead seems awfully set on Victoria as a name, and she’s never exactly been one to roll over and change her mind on someone else’s say so. I think you may have a bigger problem on your hands then you’re anticipating.”

  Victoria. Adam gritted his teeth – just hearing the name was enough to turn his stomach. “I know what I’m doing. Once Sinead sees the baby, once she can hold her, once she knows she’s all right–” once they’re both safe, and I’ve figured a way to alter the spells, “she won’t care so much about the name then.”

  “What if she’s not all right? What if there are problems?”

  “There won’t be,” Adam answered, and of that, he was sure. He was as certain of it as he was of his own name. He had warded them both against every possible threat. He’d ensured their safety. He would not lose either one of them.

  “Oh, Adam.” Scout’s voice was soft with sympathy. “You can’t really keep people safe, you know. Not all the magic in the world can do that.”

  He peered at her sharply. “Magic? What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, isn’t that what you’re up to?” She smiled at him sadly. “I can feel it, you know. It’s in the atmosphere. It’s all around you; around both of you, actually. I wasn’t sure what it was, at first, but now– I’m right, aren’t I?”

  Adam sighed. “Well, what else was I supposed to do, huh? She was having nightmares. All night. Every night. The morning sickness just kept getting worse, and she wasn’t getting enough to eat. And when she collapsed—hell, even the doctors didn’t know what to do for her. It was the only thing I could think of. The only way I could keep her.”

  “Keep her?” Scout’s smile turned sardonic. “Wow, I bet that’d be a real turn on for someone like Sinead. No wonder you’ve been keeping it a secret. So, barefoot and pregnant weren’t enough for you, huh?”

  Adam nodded, acknowledging the hit. He knew how it sounded. He knew it wasn’t PC or sensitive or enlightened—or whatever he was supposed to be. But he didn’t care. “I wanted her safe. I wanted her healthy and happy and... a couple of spells, Scout, that’s all it was. I convinced her to move in with me. I took away the nightmares. I fixed things so that she wasn’t sick anymore. What’s so wrong about that? It’s not like I took away her will, you know.” He grimaced as he gestured at the room. “If this isn’t proof of that, I don’t know what is. And, even with magic, she still won’t marry me.”

  He hated having to admit that. And the truth of it, when it hit him, was so hard to accept that it even hurt to breathe. He loved her. Why would she make things so difficult for him? Why would she fight him like this? Unless she loved him less…

  Scout said nothing for a moment, and then, “Maybe she’s on to you. I think she knows.”

  He looked at her, startled. “What? No. Impossible.”

  “Nothing’s impossible, Adam,” Scout sighed. “You should know that, by now. And maybe she doesn’t know for sure, but I think she suspects something.”

  He shook his head, wearily. “No, she doesn’t. She can’t. She hates anything to do with magic. She’d hate it if she knew what I was doing, what I’ve done.” Once again the truth of it hit him, once again he found it hard to breathe.

  “I know what you mean,” Scout said. He could hear the sorrow in her voice, and he knew she was speaking from her own experience. “I know exactly what you mean.”

  “She’d hate it if she knew,” he repeated; it was a question this time, as much as a statement.

  Reluctantly, Scout nodded assent. “Yep. Prob’ly. That would be my guess.”

  Adam nodded, too, almost relieved to be giving voice to the truth at last. “And she’d hate me.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  I wash my hands in innocence

  and I go around Your altar, O Lord,

  giving voice to my thanks.

  and recounting all Your wondrous deeds.

  Communion Prayer

  For the Wednesday after the First Sunday in Passiontide

  Wednesday evening found Liam pacing the halls at TLV, prowling restlessly through the downstairs room. As big as the house was, he was discovering it could feel awfully cramped. Tonight it felt like a cage. A trap. A pit from which he might never escape. He’d only been here a couple of days, and already he was longing to bust out of the place.

  But he couldn’t. Not yet.

  Added to his sense of entrapment, was his feeling that he’d once again failed to protect someone who’d been placed in his care. Gregg had Lauren up in his office right now, for the second time this week, and Liam didn’t think much of the odds that they were doing nothing but talking. Images of that bed tried once again to worm their way into his mind, but he pushed them away. This was not his problem.

  They were both adults, after all, even if one of them was a master manipulator and probably a sexual sadist, as well. And he’d warned Nick it could come to this, so his conscience should be clear, damn it. He hadn’t caused it, couldn’t cure it and there was no earthly reason he should be feeling guilty about it now. But try telling that to the impotent fury that roiled in his gut and insisted that he could have done…something.

  “Hey. You think you could go and wait for your girlfriend somewhere else?” Cara snapped, glancing up from the book she had open in front of her, startling him out of his funk. “And, chill, huh? I’m sure Gregg’ll shake her loose sometime, then you can have her back.”

  “Girlfriend?” Liam looked at her in surprise. She was seated at the big kitchen work table, books and papers spread out around her. “Who are you talking about?”

  Cara nodded toward the ceiling. “Lauren? Isn’t that what’s yanking your chain? Or is Really Crappy just gonna be your normal mood from now on?”

  Liam nodded, accepting the truth behind her criticism, he had been in a lousy mood for the last couple of days; short tempered and cranky. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m just in a bad mood. It’s got nothing to do with her.” It had nothing to do with Cara, either, except... well, come to think of it, hell, yeah, it did. At least, in part.

  He’d been in a seething state of frustration ever since Saturday night. Furious with himself for wanting her, with Gregg for using her. And with Cara herself…just because. Then, when he’d driven out to the compound Monday evening to go over the details of his move with her, he’d been unhappily surprised to see Lauren’s car in the driv
e. And even more unhappily surprised to learn she was closeted with Gregg upstairs in his office/bedroom.

  He could tell that Cara wasn’t too thrilled about it either. She did a pretty good job of covering it up, but he could sense her emotional turmoil, and it just made him more angry.

  Damn it, his hands were tied in this situation. He had no logical reason for reproaching Lauren, no apparent right to confront Gregg. But, Cara—she could do something to stop this, couldn’t she? Couldn’t she at least try?

  Maybe she didn’t want to? He could hardly fault her for that. And he didn’t like thinking of her with Gregg, either. So, he’d spent the better part of the last two days scowling at her, not sure who he was most annoyed with – Lauren, Nick, Gregg, Cara…or himself.

  “So, what’s wrong then?” Cara asked. “If it’s not Lauren?”

  Liam shrugged. “I guess I’m just feeling a little claustrophobic, or something. I don’t like being cooped up like this.” He’d known the gates were kept closed all night, as well as for most of the day, but he hadn’t anticipated his reaction to being trapped behind them. It brought up every childhood fantasy he’d ever had about running away, and too much of the helplessness he’d experienced then, as well. Only three things had prevented him from escaping Dagoba. Amy. Jack. And the fact that he didn’t know where home was, had no idea where he’d head for, if he ever got out.

  “Well, maybe you should have thought about that before you moved in here,” Cara suggested.

  Liam glanced at her sharply. “No. I knew what I was doing. I want to be here.”

  “Well, whatever,” she sighed, eyes straying once more to the book in front of her. He watched as she doodled with her pink high lighter pen; making squiggly little circles in the margin, looking more like a kid than she had any right to, especially after Saturday.

  Liam studied her in silence. Did she like being treated like that? Or, was she too besotted to even realize how much of a disadvantage she was at, with a man like Gregg? He knew he should let the subject drop, but he was too restless to keep quiet. “So, what about you? Why are you here?”