by Sherry Soule
Be strong, Shiloh.
My eyes flew open. Too dim. The windows. I wrenched my arms free of the smoky coils. I stared at the windows, the magick singing through my veins. Light and power rushed inside me, swelling. The energy whipped around me, flowing into everything. The flowers. The earth. The trees. Mother Nature lent me her strength—her power. With a flick of my wrist, the curtains parted.
In the shifting gleam of sunlight, I scanned the room.
Claire slowly dissipated. Shades faded into shadow. Esael’s face was a mask of fury. His eyelids twitched. He frayed into smoke, the sun sapping him of his strength.
I stood there shivering. Cold as winter. But there was no snowdrift. Just a room crammed with books, soft chairs, a mahogany desk in the corner, and antiques. A maid appeared and swept dirt out the open front door. I watched her detachedly.
I rubbed my temples with my fingers. A hand touched my shoulder. I jumped. Evans stood beside me. He must have entered the house after I’d opened the windows. He gave me a quizzical look, maybe wanting reassurance all was well. And I couldn’t pretend there was nothing wrong.
“Are you okay?” Evans gave me a strained smile.
I nodded faintly and glanced out the front door, but the old lady was busy sweeping. Pretending, maybe. Hard to tell.
Evans gripped my arm and pulled me into the library, shutting the double doors. “What happened?”
My tongue felt thick. “I’m fine…I think. Something was here. In the house. A wraith,” I whispered. “Claire Donovan.”
“Hmm, just as I suspected.”
“The demon was here too…and I know his name.” My stomach churned, but I swallowed hard, kept it together. “Esael.” Saying his name made it more real. Scarier.
“Knowing a demon’s true name gives you some power over him. I’ll do more research and see what I can discover about Esael.”
I drew a deep breath and released it. “Evans, you were right all along about everything…well, no, you weren’t right about Trent’s mother being a problem. She needs my help. And I intend to, well, help. I had this vision...her suicide was unnatural, like my attempt.”
“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? Don’t forget to pick up the bagels for the crew in the morning.”
Once safely home, I sat cross-legged on my bed. The horrific images replayed in my mind. Esael’s blazing yellow eyes. Claire’s frightened expression. The shades hissing and the evil aura surrounding Ravenhurst. It was too much. And I had a bad feeling I was running out of time.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Trent strode into Ravenhurst’s library and set his backpack on a chair. I looked up, startled, and shoved my book between the cushions of the loveseat. “Obviously I’m interrupting something,” he said.
Uh, yeah, just my education in witchery. Not that I can tell you.
Two weeks had gone by since I’d started working at Ravenhurst, and while Esael hadn’t put in another appearance, Evans had me reading before my next encounter with the big bad evil. Evans and I had been researching demonic possessions when Trent walked in.
“N—no, of course not, dear boy. We, um, were just taking a short break.” Evans rose from his seat and walked to the desk, drawing Trent’s attention to the blueprints littering the surface. “Actually I’m glad you’re here, Trent. I spoke to your father this morning and I wanted to discuss this section of the house.” Trent leaned over his shoulder.
With their backs to me, I quickly hid the other books we’d been studying under the sofa. Trent glanced at me, and I put on a big phony grin. The corners of Trent’s mouth lifted into a cocky smile as Evans droned on about the remodeling. The fact that a demon was after me was temporarily forgotten in that instant. Evans excused himself to go instruct the workers.
Trent’s gaze slid to my face. “So you’ve managed to put up with my uncle ordering you around for a few weeks. How’s it going?”
Oh, just learning about your super creepy house. Studying witchcraft and learning spells. Nothing much.
“Super. Evans told me all about the, er, you know—his plans for Ravenhurst. Anyhoo, it wasn’t like I was sulking about, waiting for you to show up.”
Major understatement.
“Good to know,” he said with a chuckle.
“Ah, did I just say that out loud? Wait, don’t answer.” One hand covered my mouth before I uttered another stupid word.
“You’re bizarre,” he said, his grin broadening.
I checked him out and noted that his jeans fit him snugly and his ivory shirt brought out the suntan of his unblemished skin. So drool worthy. I twirled a strand of hair on my finger, tilting my head and flirting. “In a good way?”
“Yep.” He bobbed his head. “I’m starving and it’s after three. Let’s grab something to eat.”
Butterflies whirled in my stomach. My eyes smiled at him. “Sweet! But you’re buying.”
“No prob.”
We walked to his Mustang and slid onto the seats.
“Can I ask you something that’s been bugging me?” I fastened my seatbelt. “Were you dating Ashley Witheridge?”
His emerald eyes sparked with mischief and he said, “Not anymore. Not since I met you.”
Does that mean we’re dating now? I mentally smacked my forehead. Duh. He’s taking you to lunch, right? Our second date!
We drove through the fog-shrouded streets at a dizzying speed that made my seatbelt jerk me back.
“You’re not friends with Ashley?” he asked.
I stiffened. “Define friends.”
“She mentioned that she knew you. We went out a few times. Nothing serious. She’s pretty, but dumb as a post.” He down shifted and turned right on Auburn Avenue. “What can I say? I’m the most eligible bachelor in town.” Trent gave me an exaggeratedwink, telling me he was fully aware of how cocky he was acting. He braked at the light, and expanded his arms, yawning, muscles bulging. “And can I help it if all the ladies want to kiss me?” he teased.
His words made me redden and go still. “Who said anything about kissing?” But I couldn’t help thinking about the kiss we’d shared three weeks ago. Was he thinking about it, too?
“I did. You’re thinking about it right now.” He stopped at a red light.
Shaking my head, I said, “Shut up. I am not!”
“Sure.” He chuckled. The traffic light changed to green and he shifted the Mustang into gear and accelerated.
“I’m glad you’re sooo modest, Donovan.”
Trent parked at the curb by an outdoor café and turned off the motor. He ran a hand through his tousled locks. He shifted in his seat and gazed intensely into my eyes. An electric current swirled around me, snaring me in its seduction. Could he feel it too? Our eye contact held, making me blush harder and look away.
“I should’ve asked you to hang out sooner,” he said. “School’s been rough.”
Yeah, you should have. I’d fallen into a maudlin depression. Over a guy. Not calling. Ugh. I met his gaze, my cheeks heating again. “Whatever.” Then I blurted, “Why did you get weirded out that time we kissed?”
Grrr! Okay, yes, the words came from my mouth, but I really hadn’t meant to ask him that.
“Whoa!” His hands flew up in front of him. “I apologize. Jeez…the truth is, I was freaked I would scare you off. I’m bored to death here. You’re like…totally cool, in a weird way. I like you. And I wanna take things slow. So, we cool?” I nodded and tried not to grim from ear-to-ear like a doofus. He got out of the Mustang and went around, then opened my door. I stood on rubbery legs. He likes me. Me!
We found seats on the terrace. A waitress took our orders—French dip and a Coke for Trent, salad and an iced tea for me—then left us alone. After a few minutes of small talk, Trent asked, “I’m curious about something…your last name. Ravenwolf.” He sat back and rested one ankle over the top of his kneecap on his other leg, then folded his hands in his lap.
“Yeah, it’s different,” I said. �
��My dad is Sioux and my mother’s French. Obviously, with a name like Broussard. And in case you’re wondering—yes—she kept her maiden name. So, I have an interesting ethnic heritage.” I shrugged. “What can I say? I told you we were strange.” I almost added, “And Heritage Witches.”
He laughed. “Nah. My ancestry is Dutch and Irish, with some Italian thrown in. I’m a mutt of sorts too.”
The waitress reappeared with our order. Trent devoured his food while I picked at mine. When he finished, he wiped his mouth with the napkin and threw it on the empty plate. “Do you like working at Ravenhurst? Once some of the other applicants found out which house it was, they didn’t want the job.” He stretched his arms over his head. “But not you.”
“I was sorta apprehensive, because of the rumors and all. But I didn’t let it stop me from taking the job.”
Trent raised his glass and brought it to his lips, taking several gulps. “And you get to work with my uncle, the best restoration man in the Bay Area.”
“How are you guys related?”
Trent tapped his fingertips on the table. “Evans was married to my father’s sister Jennifer until she died of cancer last year. While my father’s away he’s gonna live at Ravenhurst…be there for me when my dad isn’t…”
“Oh.” I stabbed into my salad but halted with my fork halfway to my mouth when something occurred to me. “I assumed you didn’t talk to your father.”
Something raw and painful passed over his face. He hid it with a quick smile, but I’d seen the pain. “Of course I talk to him. We live in the same house—although on opposite sides…” He folded his arms across his chest. He became quiet and reflective for a moment, as if staring into the past and seeing a neglectful father standing there.
Boy, did I understand how he felt.
I put down my fork. “Trent, you don’t have to be all Joe Stoic regarding your father. I realize you have this unflappable, tough-guy vibe working for you, but you don’t have to do that with me.”
He laughed uneasily. “What? I’m not unflappable.”
“Excellent. Then start flapping.” I leaned forward and raised my eyebrows.
Trent sighed and closed his eyes. “It’s hard to explain. Sometimes, I want to forgive him, except…” He opened his eyes and they were full of pain. “I really don’t wanna talk about this.” He clenched his hands. “We should go. Uncle Tony is gonna start to wonder where you are.” He stood, throwing cash on the table
Trent didn’t say a word on the drive back, making it strained and uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have pried into things that were none of my business. I’d pushed too hard and now Trent was shutting down. Back at Ravenhurst, Trent turned off the engine, rolled down the windows, and sighed again. We sat in the car and watched the men painting the trim.
His voice broke the silence. “Sorry. About earlier. I didn’t mean to bite your head off. My father and I have a complex relationship. It’s hard to talk about…especially to, um, a hot girl.”
Back up, please! Rewind. He thinks I’m hot? Me?
“You meant me, right?”
He laughed. “Unless you know of another raven-haired girl with tan legs,” he said, with a wink.
“Nope. Must be me.” I grinned. “Sorry, it was none of my business. I can be too nosey. Part of my weird charm, you might say.”
“Don’t stress. Hot trumps weird any day,” he said with a wink.
I laughed to conceal my embarrassment. I’m sure it worked as well as my efforts to hide my emotions. I took in his strong shoulders, broad chest, and forlorn expression. Trent’s green stare did not free mine. His eyes held a tinge of tenderness and compassion that made my breath catch. Then his eyes became glazed, and he undid his seatbelt and scooted over. Involuntarily, I leaned toward him too. He slipped his arms around me and kissed me passionately. He held me close against his body, grinding intimately into me. He kissed me hard, like only my kisses, my lips could save him. Redeem him. Or was it me that needed saving?
An inexplicable surge of desire and passion expanded inside me. My heart beat harder and my breath came faster. The darkest moments of my life vanished while I was in Trent’s arms. My worries took flight. My heart soared.
Is Trent’s heart beating as fast as mine? Is he experiencing anything akin to the hot flood of desire sweltering all the way down to my bellyring?
Finally, I broke the kiss to catch my breath and steady my pulse. Tilting my head, I let slip, “Evans mentioned the house is haunted.”
Trent jerked back, his nostrils flaring. He thumped the dashboard with a fist. “What? Why would he be telling people that? He’ll be spooking the workmen. My dad warned him—”
Dang it, I have to learn to watch my big mouth.
“Stop!” I lifted my hands in surrender. “He hasn’t said anything to anyone but me. It’s no big deal. Really.” Attempting to smooth it over, I laid one hand over his. “It’s urban legend. Everyone’s heard it. You must know something.”
Trent slumped in his seat. He was quiet, staring at the men pruning the rosebushes. Finally, he said, “A few stories…”
“Like what?” I prodded.
Overhead, a hawk flew by, a brown shadow against the darkening sky. I heard the sleepy hum of the bees going from flower to flower among the jasmine.
He knit his brow. “My uncle told me after my mother killed herself that two maids claimed to see a ghost.” He put the window down and didn’t meet my stare as he added, “I’ve never seen anything peculiar.” The way he stressed the word ‘never’ made me think he had. My gut told me I was probably right.
My fingers twiddled absently. “It could be true. This place is ultra creepy and—”
“Not you too! I’m so effing sick of people talking trash about my house.” He was practically shouting. Several workmen glanced our way. “So effing dumb,” he muttered under his breath. He squinted into the sun before putting on his sunglasses. Now, I couldn’t read his eyes.
Ah, hell. My shoulders wilted at his anger. Obviously, Trent didn’t like people talking smack about his house. I’d been so busy stressing about my own problems I didn’t stop to consider how the rumors affected him.
I changed the subject. “Where’s your dad? Wasn’t he coming home this week?”
Trent lowered his Armani’s and stared over the rim of the frames. “Change of plans. He’s in New York with his stockbroker.”
I touched his arm. “So I take it he doesn’t stay home much? Even during your summer vacations?”
“Nope,” he said, his tone low and guttural. “He can’t stand to be near me for long. He always has some lame excuse about having to work.”
“Your home life isn’t ideal? I can so relate.”
“Huh. That surprises me. Your family seems a helluva lot better than mine.”
“Yeah, well…mine’s totally dysfunctional too. My mother is a self-absorbed bitch, and my dad worships her. Not healthy. But my dad’s cool. He at least acknowledges my existence.”
Trent bobbed his head. “Unlike my dad. Before we moved here, I was kicked out of three boarding schools in two years—I was going through the whole rebellious phase.” His voice was severe. “I hated it there. I skipped classes and got into fights. I almost dropped out—”
“What? Not wanting an education? You were lucky to have an opportunity to study at the some of the top schools in the country!” My ears flamed, the heat creeping to the top of my scalp. A good college was my ticket out of Whispering Pines. That Trent would toss opportunity in the trash was wacky. “That’s just lame.”
Astonishment crossed his gorgeous face, then he chuckled. “Damn, you have so much conviction in you. Must be terribly exhausting.”
I punched him in the arm. “Shut up. I think you made the right choice. Finishing school.” I could tell he was trying not to smile. “No, really!”
“I guess…” He took off his sunglasses. “Shiloh?”
“Yeah?”
God, he makes my head all tin
gly. My feelings revolving, unrecognizable.
Trent leaned closer, his minty breath brushing against my skin. “I like that you assume I’m some sorta hero. I mean, my life does totally suck, but I rose above it—you could say.”
Taking a deep breath, then letting it out, I said, “Well, yeah. Sure…wait, you’re totally teasing me, aren’t you?”
“Totally.”
We shared a smile. I had to gain control over my mouth. Act mature. Yeah right. How can I with these confusing and electrifying emotions surfacing within me?
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to ramble on.” I slapped my hand, scolding myself. “Bad, bad Shiloh.”
“I’m cool with it. I swear, I’m not doing the deep, brooding guy routine…don’t get me wrong, I am deep. I just don’t care anymore.”
“Well, your mom would be proud of you.” I took Trent’s hand in mine.
“Yeah. She’s the reason I decided to stay in school. Everything got so screwed up. I was angry with her—and my father—for a long time. I didn’t know why.” His tone, although indecipherable, left me sad. “I guess I was angry that she killed herself. It sucked. She never stuck around to get to know me. And my dad acts as if he can’t stand to look at me, because I remind him of my mother…I don’t know. It took years to get my head straight.” He glanced at me, his eyes shimmering like green fire. “Listen to me—jeez. Never mind. Didn’t mean to unload all my baggage.” The air between us grew cold and his posture stiffened. He stared at the roses, at the house, at the buzzing bees—anywhere but at me.
Huh? What just happened? He’s finally opening up to me and now he’s all moody again.
He’d snapped himself shut, like earlier, when I’d talked about the rumors of Ravenhurst being haunted. I should’ve learned my lesson the first time. Not asked so many personal questions.
