“So…? You gonna fill me in or do I have to play twenty questions?” I plopped onto the club chair, crossed my legs and swung a slipper from my toes.
Patrick’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He glanced around my living room but remained behind the sofa, a barrier of wood and springs and stuffing separating us from who-knew-what.
“We don’t really have time,” he said and scratched his jaw again. “Flynn’s pretty pissed. We need to leave.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Wow. You just added, like, ten more questions to my list.” My hand fell to my lap and I widened my eyes in frustration. “Who is Flynn?”
“You don’t know yer lover’s full name?” His musical timbre mocked, but the words stung. Before I could form a curt reply, he continued, “Flynn Michael Kerrigan, m’love. Flynn was my little brother’s first name and that’s what his fletch goes by.”
“I… I didn’t know.” What else didn’t I know about my dead boyfriend? Patrick tilted his head down and raised his eyes, seemingly wondering the same thing.
“You need to change, pack a bag and grab your witchy stuff. We’re leaving in fifteen.”
My jaw nearly bounced against my chest. “Bossy much?” Rude and pushy. Great.
“All the damned time.”
“Well, before I go anywhere with you, Patrick Kerrigan, I need some answers.”
He folded his large arms over his equally large chest, legs splayed wide in an impatiently patient stance.
“For one thing, why in the hell did you row to my house? Normal people would’ve just used the front door.”
“Doppelganger’s can’t travel easily across water.”
I pressed two fingertips to my temple and rubbed small circles. “Okay… him following you is a problem, why?”
“Flynn forbade me to see you. But I had to. So, I borrowed the boat and rowed across the lake.”
“Why did he forbid you to see me?”
Patrick blinked as his jaw clenched. “He didn’t, initially. But, circumstances changed and he felt you would need easing into this fiasco. I disagreed.” He huffed a deep sigh. “I can explain more while we’re on the road. Get moving, m’love.”
I rose and trudged toward the bedroom, muttering under my breath, “I most certainly am not your love.” I slammed the door and leaned against it, oxygen saturating my lungs for the first time since I saw the dinghy.
The clock now read 12:58. Exactly forty-five minutes ago I was fast asleep and blissfully ignorant. Now I was panting and running around my room, tossing clothes on my bed and digging through my drawers for my charms and make-up.
Fourteen minutes later I stepped out of the bathroom with clean clothes on my body and minty freshness in my mouth. I slung my pack over my shoulder and grabbed my keys and my cell off the kitchen counter.
Patrick leaned against the front door, arms and ankles crossed. He did that slow perusal of my figure again and my neck and cheeks ignited under his cold glare.
I took a deep breath. “Where to?”
Chapter 4
Christ, I didn’t think Rose McCarty could get any cuter. Her nose scrunched with determination and her eyes slit as she craned her head to glare at me. Skinny jeans clung to her hips and I nearly moaned with disappointment when she covered her tight green sweater with a heavy coat. She slid her hand behind her neck and began to free the long hair trapped beneath the collar.
“I want to see where he died.”
She froze. “Sorry?”
“Take me to his dorm.”
Ash darkened her milk-white skin and her fingers clutched the silver necklace again. A small bulge hid beneath the sweater, I couldn’t make out what hung from the slim chain.
“I don’t know about that.” She ran her tongue across her top lip. “I’ve not been back since. I had to get an apartment off campus just to finish my semester.”
I snatched a scarf off the coat rack and moved closer. “We have to,” I said as I gently wrapped the blue-green wool around her neck, trapping her hair again. “Flynn’s waiting for us.”
The nearness of Rose—with her buttery scent, warmth, and slight shiver—made my bloody head whirl. I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, caressing the outer ring with my thumb before taking a step back.
The knot in my throat wouldn’t sink to my gut no matter how hard I swallowed. My heart burned with the knowledge my attraction to Michael’s girlfriend was not real.
Rose dug through her backpack. “You need to wear this.” She held a black leather cord with an amber stone pendant set in silver. “The spells around my home washed away whatever enchantments Josie and her cohorts put on you. This should help ward off any new charms.”
One second I stared at the necklace in her outstretched hand and the next I tumbled into her eyes. “What did you just say?”
“Which part?” Dummy clearly implied at the end of her sentence.
“About the spells your witch friends put on me.”
She exhaled a peeved kitten snort. “A: They are not my friends And, B: Yeah, my house is a safe haven. That’s why I own a floating home; bodies of water repel most evil… and apparently doppelgangers. That’s why Josie and the others live on an island that can only be reached by boat.” Cocking her head, Rose and flashed a haughty grin. “And, not to toot my own horn, but I’m a much stronger witch than any of the Vashon clan. The only other woman in the Pacific Northwest as strong as me is my sister.”
The transformation of conceited kitty into concerned woman occurred in the blink of an eye. “Can you tell me what spells they put on you?”
Damned lump pressed against my throat. “Maybe after we meet with the fletch.”
The strength of her scowl prickled my skin. I couldn’t look her in the eye, knowing the feelings I had might possibly be for real. Even if they were, she was still Michael’s. I’d only have her if she wanted me for me. But her roaming gaze screamed volumes. She didn’t see Patrick Kerrigan, she saw his little brother.
“Well, I guess we’d better get going. Here, bend down.”
I did as instructed. Rose closed her eyes, held the amber to her chin and mumbled a quick chant, enveloping me with fresh breath. Snaking her arms around my neck, she clasped the necklace together, plucked the front neckline of my sweatshirt and dropped the stone beneath.
“You need to keep the amulet against your skin at all times.” I watched her lips caress the words. “How does it feel?”
I straightened, but I couldn’t rip my eyes from her mouth. Between the heat from her touch and the burning stone, my blood seemed kissed by flames.
“Hot,” I croaked.
“Good.”
I locked my front door and marched up the pier, Patrick’s heavy trod directly behind me. The lamps illuminated yellow circles on the damp planks and the houseboats swayed and squeaked as they rubbed against pylons. Once we stepped onto land, the power of the earth sent a heady warmth to my muscles.
“Shite!” Patrick almost yelled. “This damned thing is searing a hole through me chest.”
I snickered and ambled along the dimly lit road, past all the parked cars. “Don’t pull it away. The amber’ll calm down in a minute. The transition between water and land can be rough when one is touched by magic.”
His grumbling continued and only grew louder when I clicked the remote to unlock my silver and black car.
“Hop in,” I said and grinned over the roof.
“You can’t seriously be telling me that this tin can is yers?” Patrick whined as he stepped around to the passenger side.
“What’s wrong?” Snark oozed off my words. “I thought Europe was covered in Smart Cars.”
He snorted. “Ireland is not ‘Europe’ and I don’t know how you expect me to contort m’body into that thing.”
I shrugged and pictured him contorting his fine body into lots of pleasing positions, most of them occurring while I reclined beneath him. I shook my head, erasing the unexpected naughty images. Thi
s was Michael’s brother.
“You get what you get. And at one in the morning, you get a tiny car.”
Without waiting for another manly complaint, I tossed my pack in the back, slid behind the wheel and started the engine. I kept my eyes trained on the instrument panel while he bellyached and attempted to wedge in his long legs and torso.
“You can move the seat a little. The button’s on the side.”
He dug his meaty hand down and the chair jerked and dipped back a few inches but his knees remained tight against the dash. He cussed and slammed the door, his left shoulder smashing against my right one. The contact forced a tight smile to my lips.
I buckled my seatbelt and backed the car, maneuvering through the hills of the quiet East Lake neighborhood. The tires hummed over the grating of the small University Bridge. We wound through the UW campus without talking. I had so many questions but I wasn’t sure where to begin. His resigned placidity was both comfortable and unnerving. With a sigh, I rolled into a tight parking spot and shut off the engine.
“It’s that one,” I said and pointed to the right.
We exited the car and I gulped when I faced the tall brick building. Patrick stomped along the pathway. I inhaled three deep breaths and followed him.
“Where?”
Tightening the scarf, I tilted my head left. My gaze flittered over the spot on the ground where Michael had landed.
Patrick grabbed his hood and yanked it over his head before sauntering along the exterior of the dorm. I stayed put, feeling no need to get any closer to the place of Michael’s death. I glanced around the dark yard, naked branches of maple and oak and cherry trees stretched toward the cloudless night sky. A breeze picked up a few leaves and sent them cartwheeling across the trim grass.
I shoved one hand in my pocket. My stomach jumped and my throat swelled. I rubbed my forehead and willed away the encroaching panic attack. But when my pinkies began to dance, I glanced around, seeking out Patrick.
He stood with his arms slack at his sides, staring down at the patch of concrete. He craned his head, likely figuring out which window had been Michael’s. The leaves near his feet began to swirl into a small tornado.
“P-Patrick?” My voice squeaked.
Without turning, he said, “Don’t fret, m’love.” His voice was serene, peaceful.
My gaze darted between Patrick’s still frame and the growing cyclone. A patch of faint blue light developed out of the leaves. Small dots bounced and began to clump together until the gleaming outline of a man stood next to Patrick. The blue light solidified into gangly, golden Michael.
No, not Michael. Flynn.
My breath hitched in and out in short, raspy gasps. The edge of my vision blurred and darkened. I fisted my hands, digging my nails into the meat of my palms and commanded my breathing to slow. I uttered a quiet chant, just a calm mantra more than a spell. The chills abated and a sense of strength began to bloom in my belly. For three years I hid away from all things magic—with the exception of my sister—and now I was just going to have to suck it up and get over my fear. I had to help, in any way I could, to give Michael peace.
Flynn touched Patrick’s upper arm. Patrick’s shoulders rolled forward and his head dropped. I didn’t need to see his expression to know he felt awful and my heart ached at the sight. I’d been so selfish, so focused on my own pain I had completely disregarded Patrick’s suffering. I shuffled forward and gripped Patrick’s other arm. He turned and grabbed me, tugging me against his chest and burying his face in my neck. He didn’t cry, but his body jolted with silent mourning.
I held him tight and gazed over his shoulder at the ghost behind him. Flynn’s irises were blue like Michael’s only startlingly bright and pulsing with electricity. He flashed an impish smirk.
Patrick drew back. His eyes, for the first time, were anything but cold. His lids were red-rimmed, his lashes clumped with unshed tears, but they radiated with life and warmth.
“I shouldn’t have waited so long,” he whispered. “I should’ve come sooner.”
I exhaled a soft shush and rubbed his back. “You’re here now. And we need to help your brother.”
“She’s right,” Flynn said. His voice was similar to Michael’s, but more clipped, less Americanized. “Rose is t’only one who knows what happened that night.”
Shaking my head, I stepped to the side. “I don’t remember anything. I blacked out.”
Flynn clasped his hands in front of his stomach. My head spun and my nerves jolted from standing so near Michael’s supernatural twin. The emotions whipping through my chest ricocheted off each other, muddling my heart with pain and passion. I missed Michael so much, but I’d had enough time to come to grips with the loss. I had frozen myself in time, yet I had to move on.
“Yeh know what happened, bonnie lass. ’Tis stuck in yer brain and only one person can help unbury it. Once we know the name of the demon, I’ll be able to retrieve Michael’s soul.”
Patrick’s gaze narrowed and his forehead creased. “Is Josie the person?”
“No.” I nudged the toe of my hiking boot into the squishy lawn running alongside the path. “Megan, my sister can do it. We’ll have to go to her. It’ll be a long drive and an even longer ferry ride.”
Flynn stroked Patrick’s arm again. I noticed the doppelganger was careful not to touch me. “Go with Rose, brother. Come back t’this spot when yeh have what yer looking for.”
Chapter 5
“We don’t have time for this,” Rose complained for the third time.
“The Westin’s only five minutes away. I’ll never straighten m’back again if I sit in this sardine can much longer.”
“Whatever.” She turned the car around and entered the I-5 freeway toward downtown Seattle. When we exited, the streets were quiet and dark. I watched the Space Needle grow larger the closer we got until it disappeared as she entered the hotel’s garage.
“I’ll pay for the parking when we pick up yer car,” I said as she jerked into an open spot.
“Oh, I expect nothing less,” she snarled and threw open her door.
I fought back a smile. Even though Rose was an American, she was as feisty as any woman in County Donegal.
“C’mon. I have to run to m’room.”
Her expression transformed into a priceless mask, eyes wide, mouth slack. “Why? I thought we were just exchanging cars.”
“I’ve been in these clothes for two days. I’d like to change and pack a bag just in case.
She bit her lip and shrugged.
The elevator dinged when it reached the fifteenth floor. I held the door open and let Rose step into the hallway first. “This way.” I marched down the hall to my room and then shoved the card into the lock.
I opened the door and waited for Rose to enter. When nothing happened, I turned. Fear clouded her pretty face as if she’d just seen a ghost. I swiveled my head and peered into the room. Nope. No ghosts. “What’s the matter?”
A breathy laugh escaped her mouth and the cherry-red blush I secretly adored flamed her cheeks. “I don’t think I’ve ever been inside a hotel room with a man before.” Her admission was near a whisper.
For a second I forgot to breathe. I blinked and squinted down at her. “Yer kidding, right?”
She tittered again. “I’m being stupid. I mean… it’s not like we’re gonna do anything.” She screwed her face into a dogged scowl and shouldered past me.
I followed her, my mouth suddenly dryer than dirt. She sauntered to the window and gazed at the sweeping views of Elliott Bay.
“I’ll just be a sec.” I delved through drawers, grabbed a change of clothes and dashed into the bathroom. I glanced in the mirror and ran a hand over my two-day-old beard, deciding to leave it alone. After removing my clothes, I opened the bathroom door and leaned out. “Can I shower with this thing on?”
Rose’s eyes widened as her gaze trailed over my shoulder and chest until they came to rest on the stone I pointed at. She sucked i
n a breath and twisted sideways. Her ears burned bright while she examined her fingernails. “It’s fine,” she whispered.
I stared at the side of her face for a few heartbeats and then shut the door.
After the bathroom door clicked shut, I swiped the back of my hand across my mouth, surprised it didn’t come away damp with drool. Turning toward the coffee pot, I busied myself with the little machine in an effort to distract my thoughts.
It didn’t work.
I’m in a hotel with a hot guy… who’s naked… and in the shower… only a few feet away from me.
The shakes began and I counted my breaths until my pulse calmed. I needed to keep things uncomplicated with Patrick. We were on serious business, not monkey business. I’ve always been a responsible person, one who didn’t act on illogical impulses. I’ve always been a rock; strong and solid and unwavering. So why was I standing by the wet bar with all sorts of tingly sensations zinging through my girly bits?
Ah, crap.
If Megan ever found out, I’d never hear the end of it.
My older sister and I were polar opposites. Madonna would be envious over the number of lovers Meg had through the years. Male or female, she didn’t have a gender preference when the mood hit. If Meg were here instead of me, she’d likely be stripped and in the shower soaping Patrick’s back right about now. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.
The coffee pot beeped and I lifted the carafe. My hand trembled, splashing black liquid into a to-go cup. I snapped the lid in place and stumbled to the window, making it to my safe little corner just as a knob squeaked and the shower trickled off.
Gripping the cup to my breast, I allowed myself a moment to recall Patrick’s features. The brief glimpse of his broad shoulder and burly chest seemed unreal. I’d never seen muscles like that first hand—his body could rival any heavyweight boxer in Vegas. And his tattoo—sweet goddess, his ink would forever be burned into my mind. The black swirls began a few inches below his elbow and covered his entire upper arm, shoulder and left pec. Curvy waves nestled against straight geometric designs much like intricate cogs set inside a grandfather clock.
Shadows in the Mist: A Paranormal Anthology Page 8
