by Tara West
She gasped, splaying a hand across her chest. “That only gives me one day to prepare. How bad will it be?”
Josef heaved a weary sigh. “All of Galveston will be underwater.”
“All of Galveston?” She arched back, clucking her tongue. “Surely, you exaggerate.”
His shoulders fell. “I wish I was.”
Mrs. Jenkens waved her hands wildly in the air. “And what will happen to my house?”
“It will be no more.” Josef looked around the room with a heavy heart. He’d spent many afternoons chatting with Mrs. Jenkens in her kitchen. Though she was prone to gossip, she was one of the few people on the island who didn’t treat him like he was loco. She’d always taken his advice to heart, and she thanked him with homemade jams and pies. He felt bad for her, but not as bad as he felt for the rest of the city, for he knew none of them would heed his warnings.
“Where am I to go?” She nearly toppled the chair as she pushed away from the table. “What am I to do?”
Her panicked outburst sent a shiver down his spine, but it would do no good to let her see his fear. “You can come to my home and wait out the storm. My grandsons will help you bring your things.”
“And your house will be safer?” she screeched. “You said the whole island will be under water.”
Josef tapped his fingers on the counter as he thoughtfully eyed Mrs. Jenkens. “You forget I am an earth speaker. The elements will spare my house. I will make sure of it.”
She rolled her head with an exaggerated movement. “Surely I cannot fit all my furniture in your house.”
He rose and gazed out the window. As the noonday sun warmed the waters, children frolicked in the surf, blissfully unaware of the calamity that was about to befall them. “No, but you shall live to see another day, which is more than I can say for the others.”
* * *
Abby grumbled as she trekked toward Lydia’s house, trying to replay in her mind what she was to say to her friend. Oh, how she dreaded Lydia’s reaction. Then again, if Lydia was any friend at all, surely she’d understand. It would have been so much easier to have just rung Lydia, but her parents didn’t have a telephone. Besides, this type of delicate matter required a face-to-face explanation. Her plan was to break the news to Lydia first, then Irene, and when she finally called on Charlotte, she would have had enough practice explaining herself that hopefully, Charlotte would believe her.
Abby’s feet felt like deadweights as she marched up the steps to Lydia’s two-story home. No sooner had she reached the top step then Lydia was walking out the front door, tying her bonnet strings.
She looked at Abby and broke into a wide grin that nearly split her thin face in two. “Oh, isn’t this a stroke of good luck? I was just on my way to your house to discuss some party details.” She backed up and held open the door. “Won’t you come in?”
Abby was almost as thin as Lydia and had plenty of room to get by her, but Abby stood rooted to the spot, wishing so badly she could turn and run back home.
Lydia stood on the threshold, holding the door and gaping at Abby. “Abby? Are you coming?”
Abby exhaled a shaky breath, trying to expel nervous tension. Pulling back her shoulders, she marched forward, looking at Lydia as she ducked under her arm. “I’m afraid I haven’t come for pleasantries. I bring dire news.”
She took a seat on a narrow sofa in her parlor. Though the room was even smaller than her Nana’s parlor, it had a big bay window, giving the room an open feel. Abby frowned when she imagined the storm shattering the glass all over Lydia’s mother’s fine furniture.
Deep lines marred Lydia’s brow as she sat beside Abby. “What is it?”
Abby turned to her but was unable to utter a word. Her throat had suddenly gone as dry as dust. She coughed into her hand in an effort to clear it.
“Oh, where are my manners?” Lydia giggled, before excusing herself.
After a few moments, she was back with iced tea and a cloth-covered basket. Safina prayed Lydia’s mother’s shortbread biscuits sprinkled with sugar were in the basket, for it may be the last chance she would ever get to eat them. After Lydia prepared her tea just how she liked it, with two teaspoons of sugar, Abby relished the feeling of the cool, sweet liquid soothing her parched throat. Much to Abby’s delight, Lydia placed two biscuits on her plate before she sat in the opposite chair. Abby bit into one and moaned as the buttery concoction melted on her tongue.
Lydia gave her an expectant look. “Well, Abby? Spit it out.”
Abby set the cookie down and took a deep breath before speaking on a rush of air. “A hurricane is coming to Galveston.”
Lydia’s wan face colored. “What?”
“My Nana’s friend, Señor Cortez, has predicted it.” Abby turned up her chin, daring Lydia to contradict her. “Nana says he’s never wrong about such things.”
Lydia smoothed the wrinkles in her skirt. “Oh? And when is this hurricane to hit?”
“This Saturday,” Abby blurted.
Lydia warily eyed Abby. “So I suppose you must cancel the party.”
“Oh, yes,” Abby said, mentally berating herself for sounding too eager, “and I must also ask your family and Irene’s family to move to higher ground,” she said in the most even tone she could muster. “Perhaps you can stay at Charlotte’s house until the storm blows over.”
Lydia crossed her arms, her foot tapping out a grating staccato on the wood floor. “And where will you be?”
“Nana and I will be staying at Señor Cortez’s house. Nana is already packing our things.”
Lydia crossed her arms, scowling. “And you expect me to believe this hogwash?”
“Yes, Lydia,” Abby said on a sigh. “I know it sounds inconceivable, but it’s true. This Saturday Galveston will be hit with a hurricane so fierce, the entire city will be under water.”
Lydia shot from her seat, bearing down on Abby with a scowl. “Either Señor Cortez is crazy, or you’re lying.”
Abby vehemently shook her head. “Neither, Lydia, I swear.”
“You know what I think?” Lydia hovered over Abby, wagging a finger in her face. “I think you planned this all along. You wanted to ruin Charlotte’s party.”
Abby repressed a strangled cry as she clutched her throat. “That’s not true.”
Lydia’s face flushed as red as an overripe apple while she shook her finger harder. “You’ve been horrible to her ever since she married Teddy.”
Lydia could have stuck Abby in the heart with a blade, and it would have had the same effect. Sadly, Lydia’s words were true. Abby had hardly been a kind friend to Charlotte since the wedding. She couldn’t deny it, and she wasn’t proud of her behavior, either. But if only Lydia could understand how sorry she was and how very much she cared for Charlotte.
Abby swallowed hard, doing her best to quell the shaking in her limbs. “I am not denying that I’ve been a terrible friend, but I swear on my mama and papa’s graves….” She held up a finger and drew an X across her heart. “I’m not lying.”
“Poor Charlotte.” Lydia’s voice turned shrill as she jabbed Abby’s chest. “She’s been nothing but kind to you, and this is how you act in return.”
Abby pushed Lydia’s hand away. “Please, just hear me out.”
Lydia straightened her shoulders, dropping her hands. “I’ve heard enough. You can show yourself out.” Then she turned on her heel and marched upstairs.
Abby hung her head and groaned. She had no idea what to do. She thought about chasing Lydia up the stairs but feared it would only make the situation worse. She decided the best option was to leave and pray the morning paper mentioned the approaching storm. If not, all of Galveston, including her friends, could perish.
Chapter Twelve
The warm breeze ruffled Fiona’s hair as she stared out her bedroom window. Moonlight shone from behind billowing clouds that crowded the night sky. Fiona worried Safina would not be able to find her way back to her without the stars guiding her. If she planned
on returning at all.
Safina, my darling child, where are you?
Fiona’s heart thundered when a slim woman wearing a hooded cloak rushed down the sidewalk, then hurried up the porch stairs.
Safina!
Fiona took the stairs two at a time, racing to the front door and throwing it open before Safina had time to knock.
“Safina, my child!” Fiona wailed, throwing her arms wide. Then Fiona’s chest fell when the hood of the girl’s cloak fell back. This person was not Fiona’s darling daughter but a haggard woman nearing middle age. This woman could have pierced Fiona’s heart with a blade, and it would have had the same effect. She fought back tears and scowled at the stranger. “What do you want?”
“I’m sorry for bothering you.” The woman’s voice shook, and her eyes shone with worry. “I need help with a man.”
Fiona slumped against the doorframe with a sigh. “I’m a healer, not a charmer.”
“I know.” She solemnly nodded, the dark circles beneath her eyes seeming to deepen. “Two nights ago I was attacked in an alleyway by a horrible man. Then a stranger came to my rescue, but my attacker stabbed him in the gut. I sewed him up as best I could. He’s delirious and feverish. Madam says the infection is fatal, but I heard how you healed Pedro Cortez after that shark attacked him. This man saved my life. I don’t want him to die on account of me.” She placed her hands together in a prayer pose. “Please.”
The woman offered no form of payment. Fiona suspected her only recompense would be a long night of healing followed by another day of sleeping. Fiona already knew she would heal the man. It was not in her nature to deny someone aid, though mortals had never shown dragonkind the same respect. But what choice did she have? Her empathy would not allow her to sleep, knowing she’d denied help to this woman’s rescuer. Besides, if she stayed in this house much longer, obsessing over her daughter, surely she would drive herself mad.
She swung open the door, clutching the handle so tightly, she could feel the metal straining beneath her skin. “Take me to him.”
* * *
Fiona was not surprised to learn it was Dr. Straw who had stabbed Bess’s rescuer, for Bess had done nothing but prattle on about the attack during their interminable walk to the brothel. Fiona only listened with half an ear; her sense of reason had seemed to flee after the prostitute described her rescuer, a man named Duncan, with the palest blue eyes she’d ever seen.
“But I got the doctor’s cane,” Bess boasted with a smile in her voice. “He won’t be using it on no one no more. I can’t wait to show the chief of police. He visits our establishment at least once a week. Sometimes he calls on me, but usually he wants one of the younger girls.”
By the time they’d reached the downtown brothel, Fiona’s ears and feet were tired, and her brain had been reduced to mush. After Bess told Fiona of the daring way Duncan had come to her rescue, Fiona’s throat constricted with the memory of the fateful night he had saved her from the drunken knights with no regard for his own safety. And now she would be face-to-face with him for the first time in almost five centuries.
How many times she’d wanted to turn back and leave Duncan to his fate, for what other Duncan could have been in the prostitute’s bed but her former mate? Duncan may have been a murderous dragonslayer, but when it came to defenseless mortal women, he wasn’t lacking in chivalry. No matter how badly her desire for justice for the murder of her mother, she could not leave him to die.
And that’s when she realized her sad state. Though the bond had been severed like a feather let loose in the wind, she was still very much in love with Duncan MacQuoid. She ascended the stairs with heavy feet and an even heavier heart, ignoring the glares from the women in thick face paint as they danced for their male companions.
Fiona shouldn’t have been surprised when she walked into Bess’s room and saw him lying there, his face ashen and his body as lifeless as a corpse. It was her fault he was dying. If she hadn’t broken the bond….
Fiona mentally chided herself for her regrets. It was what she’d wanted, to be free of the torment of being attached to a mate she was forbidden to love.
Like a moth drawn to a flame, she gravitated toward Duncan’s bed, the numbness in her hands and feet spreading throughout her. She pulled back the sheets and grimaced when she saw the ooze pouring out of the sloppy stitching.
He tossed his head to the side and moaned.
Fool that she was, her heart broke for him.
“Is it that bad?” Bess whispered as she stood beside her.
Fiona was momentarily stunned, having forgotten Bess was in the room. “Aye, it is bad,” she growled. As Fiona eyed the sewing needle and bandages on Bess’s small, dusty armoire, she realized Bess had probably stitched him up, most likely causing him more harm than good with a dirty needle and a shaky hand.
Bess turned pleading brown eyes to Fiona as she struck a prayer pose. “Please tell me. Can you heal him or not?”
“I-I don’t know.” Fiona looked at Duncan again. Her shock was slowly subsiding, replaced by fear and doubt. What if he tried to kill her after she healed him? He was a dragonslayer, after all.
You’re lying to yourself, Fiona. You know he would never harm you.
Fiona cringed. The voice echoing in her conscience sounded too much like her mother. For too many years, she’d tried to convince herself Duncan was a threat, but deep in her soul, she knew the real reason she’d run from him. It was because of her traitorous heart, not Duncan. She’d fled because, fool that she was, she continued to love the man who’d murdered her mother.
Bess dipped a cloth in ice water and draped it across Duncan’s forehead. “You have to do something. He risked his life to save me.”
Fiona had no reason to be jealous. Duncan was no longer her mate and free to love whom he pleased, but Bess’s attentiveness was disconcerting. Fiona wondered if Bess and Duncan had been sharing intimacy when the doctor found them. Just the thought of it threatened to split her skull in two.
Duncan tossed his head to the other side, mumbling incoherently. Then he uttered one word that pierced Fiona’s heart like an arrow. “Safina,” he cried before kicking the sheets.
Fiona clutched her throat. “Safina?”
Bess wiped his brow again. “His daughter. He keeps calling her name. He says she’s in trouble.”
Tension coiled around Fiona’s spine and stiffened her shoulders. “Leave us.”
Bess gaped at her. “Can you heal him?”
“Go!” Fiona screamed, jutting a finger toward the door.
The prostitute picked up her skirts and ran.
* * *
Fiona slumped in a chair beside Duncan, drained from the powerful energy she’d needed to heal him. She heaved a sigh and pushed herself up. As fatigued as she was, now was not the time for rest. Duncan had told Bess Safina was in trouble. Why? Was it the effect of the drug Bess had given him? Or did Duncan know something else? Could he see their daughter? Were their lives entwined? If so, then perhaps he was the key to finding Safina.
“Duncan, wake up.” She shook his shoulders. She gasped when he opened his eyes—twin diamonds bathed in moonlight.
“Fiona?”
She clutched the corner of the bedspread and slowly lowered herself onto the chair, unable to trust her trembling limbs a moment longer. “Aye, it’s me.”
He sat up, his vacant gaze sweeping the room as if he were in a daze. “Am I dead?”
She flashed a half-hearted smile. “No.” Fiona was not prepared for his smile in return.
He beamed while clasping her small hand in his warm grip. “I thought you were lost to me forever.”
She jerked away from him. “I am lost to you, Duncan. I’ve cut the cord that bound us.”
His face fell, the pain in his eyes nearly enough to shatter her heart.
“Why?”
She averted her gaze, angry with herself for hurting him and even angrier for taking pity on the man. “Must you ask why?�
�
“Lass, I’ve served five centuries of penance for what I have done.” His voice cracked and splintered like burning timber. “Don’t tell me you haven’t seen into my heart. That you haven’t felt how sorry I am.”
Fiona risked another look at Duncan. He held her gaze firm and steady, the sincerity in his eyes more than she could bear. Loathe though she was to admit, there were times when he had drawn too near that she had seen into his heart, and what she saw both unnerved and frightened her. Though Duncan had been a dragonslayer, she sensed his love and longing and knew he would not harm her. Yet she still ran from him. How could she not? No matter how much he loved her, or how much she loved him, he was still the knight who’d murdered her dear mother.
But now was not the time for digging up the past and reliving regrets. More important was the fate of their daughter. She held out a staying hand. “Save your apologies. I take it you know of Safina. You have been calling out her name. Why?”
Though they were no longer bound, her empathetic senses felt the current of fear that radiated off his skin. “She is in trouble.”
She leaned forward, gripping her knees. “How do you know this?”
His jaw hardened. “Because my bond with her is not broken.”
Fiona’s heartbeat quickened. “Are you sure?” She remembered Josef had said the spell might not work without Duncan there. Now she realized what he’d meant. The spell had half-worked, severing only Fiona from her family.
“I’m sure.” His pale eyes darkened. “Why? Did you try to sever that bond, too? You would deny your child the right to know her father?”
Fiona slowly rose, fisted hands by her sides. “Her father, the dragonslayer? Aye, I would deny her that right, knowing her father could kill her.” Fiona doubted her words were true, but she could not help but twist the barb inside his heart.
Duncan tossed back the covers and came to his knees. “I am a dragonslayer no more.” His voice shook, though his gaze was unwavering. “I love my child, just as I love her mother.”
Fiona flinched as if burned. “Do not speak of love to me, Duncan. Our hearts are no longer entwined.”
