He set his cup down with a sloshy clatter and rubbed his face. “Ah, shite. Yer right. I can feel the same pull, the same desperation I felt for you I did last night.”
Looking out the window, I could see the wind whipping up whitecaps across the sapphire water. “I have a plan.” I sighed. “A plan that, if it works, will help Michael and also set you free.”
Turning, I looked at him. Really looked at him. Heat crept along my neck and settled in my cheeks. When he gazed at me that way—his eyes soft and hard at the same time, his mouth rigid and his face so beautiful—I knew I wanted Patrick Kerrigan with all my heart. And I wanted him to feel the same way for me, organically. But if our connection wasn’t meant to be, I wasn’t going to force it.
“Do you trust me?” I asked.
He closed his eyes and rubbed his face. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”
Patrick couldn’t see me, but I shook my head anyway. “No. Probably not.”
Chapter 10
Rose’s loose tendrils flapped around her face like maypole ribbons. My hand ached to touch her, to brush the strands behind her ear. My arms felt heavy with the need to cling to her. Every cell in my body wanted to possess her, kiss her and protect her.
I turned and focused on the jarring waves. Rose and Meg’s forty-two foot cruiser handled Puget Sound well. Meg rested below on the couch in the galley, still knocked out.
The weather remained clear although the wind made the journey more challenging. The sun touched the western horizon, the Pacific Ocean on the verge of swallowing the orb whole. I loved this time of day, twilight. It wasn’t often I got to see dusk with such clarity. Every color of the rainbow coated the bottom edge of the sky; violet melting into thin lines of blue, green, yellow, orange and red.
Rose wove the twenty-year-old vessel between tankers and ferries and pleasure boats, making a beeline south toward Vashon Island. Her plan sucked, big time. But I couldn’t think of anything better.
We cruised around the east side of the large island, keeping Seattle and her neighboring cities to our left. Once we entered Quartermaster Bay, Rose eased into the small marina. I gazed around at the storybook houses dotting the hills as we tied the boat up. Such a charming island, one I wished I had fonder memories of.
“Frannie keeps a golf cart behind the café over there.” Rose pointed toward a white Victorian house with a rustic wooden sign portraying a platter of fish and chips with a seagull staring hungrily at it.
We ran across the main road. Rose fumbled with the shed door. “Frank and Celia, the restaurant owners, let lots of island folks keep their bikes, and carts and scooters here.
Rose turned the key in the large golf cart and backed it out of the shed. The little car’s electric engine purred quietly as we drove it back to the dock.
Megan, awake now, looked more resigned than agitated.
“You made this mess, you need to help me fix it,” Rose told her. “Mom and dad are probably looking down at you right now, shaking their heads. You know how much they supported your choices—no matter how ludicrous or selfish they were. Do you really think they’d be happy knowing you’ve hurt people and tried to sacrifice me?”
I leaned forward and tugged the gag off the feisty redhead. She glared at me and then looked at Rose. “I didn’t want to,” she mumbled. Her eyes glistened. “They…”
“They what?”
Meg sniffled. “Josie and Gillian promised to remove their spell over Tyler. They turned him into a freaking mindless robot and I couldn’t change him back.”
“Tyler? The man you met when you went to San Francisco over the summer?”
“Yeah. I love him, Rosie. But they have him. They also have Frannie’s nephew and Sally’s son, Marcello.”
Rose scrunched her face, her eyes darting between both of Meg’s. “Wait… back up. Sally has a son?”
“He’s two. She met an Italian on her year-long European trip. She got pregnant and stayed in Florence to have the baby. Luca and his family have been caring for the boy. They’re pretty rich, from what little I know.”
I stared at the two women. So many secrets, so many lies. How did these Vashon witches deal with so much shite? No wonder Rose escaped and tried to live a normal life.
“Wow, okay. How did Josie and Gill get Tyler, Robert and Marcello?”
Meg laughed and looked away. “Josie’s pretty goddamned strong. Black magic and power-lust makes for some pretty impressive witchcraft, little sister. Being around her is like swimming in supremacy. It gets in your pores, in your blood and in your soul.” Her feline eyes cut over to Rose. “I never told you how proud I was that you got out when you did. I know it was before Josie, but I envy you your independence.”
“But you left too, Meg. You have a life in Friday Harbor.”
Meg rolled her eyes and lifted her shoulders. “A boring, dull life. I need excitement, Rosie. I’m a passionate, vivacious woman. I can’t stand being locked in a dusty old tower, waiting for some prince to come along and rescue me.” Her gaze pierced me, eyes overflowing with resentment and irritation.
Rose stood and wagged a finger at her sister. “You don’t need rescuing any more than I do, Megan McCarty. You just need a strong family and strong friends. And that’s what you have standing in front of you.”
The fierce expression on Meg’s face crumbled. I wasn’t sure if I bought the show, but there was something behind her eyes, some glimmer of humanity that seemed to crave release.
“We need your help,” Rose continued. “In addition to freeing your boyfriend, Frannie’s nephew and an innocent baby, we have to find a way to release Michael’s soul to heaven.”
Megan hissed a sharp intake of breath. “What do you mean?”
“Zepar killed Michael and took his soul.” Rose glared pointedly at her sister. “You didn’t know that?”
Meg shook her head.
“That night on the beach, why did you think Josie had Patrick in the first place?” Rose touched Meg lightly on the shoulder.
“I-I thought it was all because of you. Patrick came looking for you. But I did wonder what the incubus meant when he said he already had Michael. That was such a potent and confusing night.”
Squeaks from the boat grinding the bumpers and gentle splashing of water against the hull filled the suddenly quiet cabin.
A single tear broke free and snaked down the side of Meg’s nose. She and Rose had the same skin, fair and sprinkled with brown freckles. But Meg’s cheeks and jaw were angular where Rose’s were rounder.
“Forgive me, Patrick. Please?” Meg breathed the words more than spoke them. “I’m beyond mortified over what we did to you. And how I treated you when you two showed up at the house.”
The image of Megan riding me, her face morphing into Rose’s as I deliriously embraced the ecstasy along with the agony, would haunt me forever.
But I shrugged in an effort to hide my uneasiness. “I won’t lie, ‘twasn’t a bloody picnic. But I’ll consider forgiving you only if you promise to follow Rose and make this right.”
She nodded so hard I thought her head would bounce right off her shoulders. I glanced at Rose and she graced me with a sweet grin. I untied the ropes and stood back, blocking the exit in case the redhead made a break for it.
Meg rubbed her wrists and scratched her ankles. She tilted her head to one shoulder, cracked her neck and then repeated the stretch on the other side. “Don’t worry, Patrick. I’m not gonna run. If we can rescue Tyler tonight, I’ll do anything you two say.”
I inspected my watch. “Right. Well, we have to get moving.” And it would be nice if you felt as strongly about your kid sister’s life as you did your boyfriend’s.
The three of us piled into the cart, I sat in back to keep an eye on Meg while Rose drove. The back roads were lit only by sporadic street lamps and the golf cart’s weak headlights. Forty minutes later, we rolled up to an iron security gate surrounding the large house and grounds of the Moon and Stars Resort. The
residence sat on a bluff overlooking the water, facing west.
Rose shut off the engine and lights. We skirted the fence, following her through the woods as the sounds of the beach increased with every pinecone-crunching step. I gripped trees for support and sap stuck to my palms. The sea air and the piney scents of the forest were deceptively calm. The trees thinned and a long stretch of pebbly beach loomed ahead. I took a deep breath and forced my hands to relax.
“Backpack,” Rose ordered.
I removed the bag we packed at her parent’s house and handed it over. She rooted through it and pulled out lighter fluid and matches. Meg and I began to comb the beach for logs and drift wood. The pile of timber grew within the stone circle until it came to my waist. Satisfied we had enough, I stopped and inspected the cliffs beneath the house.
“Are you sure they’re going to see this and come down?” I whispered to Rose. There was no reason to keep my voice low, but all our sneaking around while on the verge of summoning evil demons had me a wee bit edgy.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Josie didn’t suspect we were here. She may be biding her time, waiting to see what we’re gonna do. She may even think Meg brought us here as offerings.”
I glanced over my shoulder at Meg sitting on a log several yards away. “I’m getting a bad feeling about this.”
Rose stroked my back and I leaned into her warm hand.
“Josie’s strong. But I’m stronger. Especially with the three stones. As long as Meg stands by our side, this’ll work.”
A snarky laugh escaped me. “Great. I’m not sure t’was such a grand idea putting all our eggs in Meg’s basket. What if this Tyler bloke is a smoke screen? What if everything she told us was a lie?”
Her hand inched lower, her fingers tenderly tracing my spine until they came to rest at my waist. I groaned, turned and yanked her soft body against mine. Rose’s face tilted up, her doe eyes wide and imploring. And frightened. I wanted to wipe that look away; her fear of me, fear of her sister, fear of her friends and enemies.
“Crimony, woman. Yer gonna be the death of me.”
Her chest pressed against my torso, her ragged breathing as harsh and uneven as my own stuttering pulse. I lowered my head as her mouth parted in invitation. Gentle as a paintbrush stroke, my lips met hers.
A sharp pain stung my arse.
“Ow!”
I turned just as a rock clattered to the ground near my feet. Meg stood by the pile of wood, glaring at us.
“Whatta d—?” My jaw snapped shut as she brought her finger to her lips in a shushing motion. I let go of Rose’s arms and she stepped away, the cool wind taking her warmth from my body. We turned and saw a faint light bobbing down the dark stairs hugging the bluff.
Rose stooped and grabbed the lighter fluid. She popped the lid and doused the wood. I took a long match from its box and began to light wads of newspaper we’d shoved into the logs. The fire grew, flaring when it ate the lighter fluid and then receding to digest its meal. When it was hungry again, the flames began to work their way through the wood, slowly gaining strength and height. I kept one eye on the descending light and one on the fire.
“Three to five minutes, Rosie,” Meg called quietly. “She’s keeping Tyler and the others in the basement. At least, that’s where they were when I was here last.”
Rose tossed the can to the side and held her arms out. I grabbed her right hand, Meg her left.
“You better not screw us over, Meg,” I warned.
She bit her lip, mimicking Rose’s mannerisms. “I promise. I’m in this with you all the way.”
Chapter 11
Patrick had little faith in my sister. And, to be quite honest with myself, I didn’t have much more. It hurt knowing she possibly cared more for a guy she’d known only three months than she did her own flesh. I understood passionate emotions could be strong, but that was no excuse. However, I had enough faith to hope if a person in love was desperate, they didn’t always think clearly.
I glanced nervously at Patrick. Did my theory also apply to him? To me?
I took a cleansing breath and stared into the fire, chanting the same words Josie had uttered when she called forth the incubus. I didn’t need the hair or blood or spit as residual traces would still be among the ashes where we built the new fire.
The wind freed my hair from its bun, it lashed my face and my neck. Meg’s grip tightened and Patrick’s warmth leached into me. The electric current between his skin and mine seemed to increase, burning my arm and heating my essence. Everything about the man standing to my right seemed made for me. I’d only wished we had met under different, better circumstances.
Shrill squeals and screams filled my head. At first I couldn’t tell if the sounds were real or imagined, but Meg lowered her mouth to my ear. “You’re doing it, Rosie.”
Still reciting, I glanced around and saw the Vashon Island witches strutting across the dunes. Their hair, skirts and hems of their sweaters whipped around like sinuous angel wings. I choked back a sob, pain and loneliness and longing swelling my chest. For three years I had been alone. I had Meg, sometimes. But for even longer than three years, I’d been without my coven. I tamped down my tears and turned my attention back to the fire.
My pinkie’s shuddered, but Meg and Patrick clamped hard on my hands. My stomach lurched, but I’d not eaten anything in hours, so my empty belly resigned itself to churning instead of vomiting. Then the flames turned ebony, tinged blood-red, and my suffocation escalation was the next paranormal-induced symptom to spring forth.
“Breathe, Rose,” Meg hissed.
The air evacuated my lungs and they refused to refill. Patrick used his free hand to smack my cheek like a dashing gentleman rousing the fainted lady in some old black and white movie.
Darkness began to take my sight as a banshee laugh rained down around us.
“Did you really think you were strong enough to defeat me?” Josie cried.
My gaze darted to her face, but my vision blurred, causing three to four Josie’s to cloud my view. Meg tugged the Tigers Eye bracelet off my wrist. My numb body couldn’t do anything more than silently concede my sister was indeed going to betray me.
And Patrick.
Again.
But when her soft voice began to take up the chant where I had left off, relief swamped my body just as fresh oxygen inflated my lungs. I breathed deep and, when I caught my breath, I chanted along with Meg. After a few beats, Patrick joined in. Even though he didn’t possess any magical powers, his support touched me.
The wall of heat from the bonfire became almost unbearable, so hot my skin threatened to melt and soak the sandy rocks at our feet. But when more voices united our mantra, the heat soared high above us, skimming our scalps.
Sally took Meg’s hand and Frannie took Patrick’s. The other redhead in the coven, Gillian, remained rooted next to the flaxen-haired Josie. But Gillian’s eyes bounced between me and her leader, as if trying to decide if mine was going to be the victorious side. Gill puffed out her cheeks and dashed across the rocks, snatching Frannie’s free hand and began chanting along with the rest of us.
Josie crossed her arms and tapped her foot, fuming. Then she stomped over and stopped behind Patrick.
“You do realize, Rose sugar,” she stated in her lazy Louisiana drawl, “that you’re the only woman here who hasn’t been with Patrick? He was so good, so… hard. Probably the best lover I’d ever had. At least, he was the biggest.”
She giggled and ran her fingers through Patrick’s thick black hair. He didn’t twitch a muscle, just kept on repeating the Latin phrases as the volume of his voice increased with every word.
I tried not to take her bait, but I was one pissed off witch. “You must have some serious performance issues, sugar, if you have to enchant men into sleeping with you.”
Josie’s smirk froze. “It’s a shame you’re about to die a virgin. Although, if you’re good, I could be persuaded to let you have your way with this handsome man
before handing you over to Zepar. I doubt the infamous incubus would mind if we popped your cherry first. He may even enjoy watching.”
Patrick gave my fingers a quick squeeze and then let go. He pivoted on his heel, swinging his hooked arm around. His fist made contact with the pale flesh of Josie’s face and the hallow thud reverberated around the campfire. The woman staggered, her eyes wide with surprise, and then fell on the rocks in a motionless heap.
I grabbed Patrick’s hand and grinned at him. Brute strength could sometimes conquer witchcraft.
Seconds later the flames parted and Zepar stepped out in all his bronze, naked glory. Cleary Josie hadn’t shagged the incubus—dude was hung like a horse!
We quieted until the only sounds remaining were the crackles from the fire and the smashing of waves.
The giant demon’s red eyes scanned our faces, one at a time, his gaze landing on me. “Ah, little siren. You were supposed to be my gift, not the one to summon me.”
Dropping Meg and Patrick’s hands, I took a brave step forward. At least, I hoped I appeared brave. My knees quivered and my stomach roiled, but I remained standing and breathing.
I licked my dry lips. “I do have a gift for you, Lord Zepar.” I flicked my chin toward Josie’s unconscious form. “A witch of great power in exchange for Flynn Michael Kerrigan’s soul.”
The incubus reared back and exhaled an earth-shaking laugh. “And why would I exchange a soul for a witch?”
“I’m not giving you Josie. I’m giving you her soul. A witch’s soul is worth ten times that of a human virgin, surely.”
Zepar scratched his chin, his red gaze flicking between me and Josie. He smiled. “I don’t see the benefit for me.”
Patrick took a step, joining me. “My brother’s doppelganger has been hunting you. He wants Michael’s soul back. I know he’ll cease his pursuit if you’ll agree t’this exchange.”
Shadows in the Mist: A Paranormal Anthology Page 11
