Bewitching Hour

by Stuart, Anne

  He whirled and stalked, absolutely stalked, toward the hallway, fury radiating through his tall, gorgeous body, leaving Sybil staring after him, miserable, doubt-ridden, half ready to run after him.

  She’d taken one step in his direction when he turned, and he was so angry he didn’t notice the misery and doubt on her face. “And as for your friend Leona,” he said, “I’m going to mop the floor with her.” Without another glance in her direction he slammed out of the house.

  Chapter Seventeen

  HE SHOULDN’T HAVE lost his temper like that. He knew it, regretted it, but right now he was so mad he wanted to pound on the leather-covered steering wheel and scream obscenities into the chilly winter night. How could she be so childish, obtuse, criminally stupid? Didn’t she realize how rare last night was? You don’t just throw something like that away because you’re too damned scared to face life.

  And that was it. Sheer, simple cowardice on her part. Sex that good didn’t come from physical sources alone. There had to be love, love on both sides, to bring the act of making love from a satisfying physical experience to something approaching heaven. When he’d left her this morning he’d been dazed, shaken and more than a little frightened himself. His feelings for her—physical, emotional, even spiritual—were like nothing he’d ever felt.

  Right now his intellectual feelings for her were so intensely furious that they threatened to wipe out all those blissful emotions. He should have turned her over his knee and spanked her, except even that thought was erotic.

  Well, she could have it her way. He’d leave her strictly alone, back in her safe, celibate world for a while, and see how she liked it. Within two weeks, by New Year’s Eve, she’d be climbing the walls. And he’d be waiting for her, and this time it would be on his terms.

  In the meantime he was going to do exactly what he said. He wasn’t going to rest until he found out exactly what was going on with Leona Coleman. He had little doubt he had her to thank, at least partially, for Sybil’s sudden withdrawal. Sybil wasn’t going to trust him completely until she found out what a scheming, devious criminal Leona really was.

  Of course, there was always the remote possibility that he was wrong about the manipulative older woman. So far Ray hadn’t been able to come up with a thing, but what with the upswing of crime during the holidays the police hadn’t had much free time to play around with computers. All his instincts told him that Leona was a crook of the first order, and his instincts seldom lied.

  Those same instincts told him that sooner or later Sybil would come to her senses, come to him, where she belonged. He just hoped this wasn’t the one time wishful thinking took the place of those infallible instincts.

  He was driving too fast down the snow-packed road, but he didn’t care. Not that he was in any hurry to get back to the Black Farm. It would be cold, dark and lonely there, and the rumpled bed, so much smaller than the king-size one he had in his apartment in Cambridge, would seem very large indeed, and would continue that way, for all the nights afterward that he had to sleep alone.

  He’d give Ray another call tonight, see if he could prod him into finding something. Sybil Richardson was a very stubborn lady; it would take time or solid evidence that she was wrong to move her, and right now, time was the last thing he wanted to waste.

  While he was at it, he might as well make a call to his real estate agent. There was no way six springer spaniels would fit into his current apartment.

  “DON’T WORRY,” Sybil said wryly as Leona popped her snowy white head around the front door of the Society of Water Witches two days later, “he’s not coming in today, either. I think he’s gone back to Boston for a few days.”

  “I knew that,” Leona said, straightening to her full five feet and moving forward with dignity. “I dowsed it before I came. I just wanted to make certain.”

  “Don’t you trust your dowsing?” The moment the words were out of her mouth Sybil could have bitten her tongue. It was all Nick’s fault, this sudden doubt that was plaguing her. He was shaking the foundations of everything she held dear, from dowsing to Leona to what she wanted in life. Why couldn’t he just go away and leave her alone?

  Except, of course, that was just what he’d done for the past three days, and she didn’t like it one bit.

  “Of course I trust my dowsing. But your professor—”

  “Not my professor—”

  “. . . is a changeable man. Unpredictable at best. That’s why we have to do something about him.” Leona plopped herself down on the straight chair beside the desk, her short plump legs dangling.

  “I suppose so,” Sybil said warily. “Do you have anything in mind?”

  “It’s got to be something to send him back to Massachusetts and away from us. Or at least something to keep him too busy to be chasing after me.”

  “Amen,” said Sybil, thinking of her own particular chase.

  “And I’ve come up with the perfect idea. We’ll send him to see Everett Kellogg.”

  Sybil just stared at her with a mixture of doubt and admiration. “No one can get near Everett this time of year. I always wonder whether he’ll make it through the winter up there, but every spring he shows up, hale and hearty. He must be past ninety.”

  “I expect he is. He’s also one of the best dowsers around, and certainly the oldest. There are things he knows that no one else would, things that happened back at the turn of the century that would be invaluable to someone like your professor.”

  “Not my professor. And of course he’d be invaluable. That’s exactly why I haven’t mentioned him to Nick. There’s no way, short of a helicopter, to get through to Everett before the spring thaw, and Nick’s the sort of man who wouldn’t believe me if I told him it couldn’t be done.”

  “Exactly,” said Leona, swinging her legs back and forth. “All you have to do is tell him about Everett and warn him that he can’t make it. Your . . . Professor Fitzsimmons will do the rest.”

  “He could be killed, Leona,” Sybil said quietly.

  “Nonsense. He’ll try to drive up through Gillam’s Notch, wreck his fancy car and have to walk back down. He’s supposed to be in England in less than a month; he won’t have time to replace his car and finish his research. Even if he does, he’ll be far more interested in getting to Everett than prying into my background.”

  “He’s going to England?” Sybil echoed faintly.

  “Didn’t you know? He’s here for research, and then he’s going to Oxford for a year on a teaching and studying fellowship.”

  “Oh,” Sybil said in a flat voice, trying to ignore the sense of betrayal that was rapidly building. Why in the world should she care if Nick was leaving the country? She wanted him out of her life, didn’t she?

  “The plan isn’t foolproof,” Leona admitted. “But it’s better than nothing. With luck he’ll get pneumonia. That should put him out of commission!”

  “Leona!” Sybil hadn’t liked the sound of malicious satisfaction in her friend’s voice one bit. “Why can’t we just send him a fake telegram or something, tell him he has to go to England sooner?”

  “Because he’d check. Professor Fitzsimmons isn’t the sort just to pack up on a moment’s notice. He’d probably fight a summons like that just to be contentious. It’s going to have to be Everett.”

  Sybil looked across at Leona’s round, cherubic face, the dark, shining little eyes, the pursed mouth, the plump little legs swinging back and forth. “No, Leona,” she said gently. “It’s too dangerous. We want him to leave us alone, but we don’t want to risk his life. You haven’t thought it through.”

  “Of course I thought it through. Do you think I would endanger someone’s life, no matter how much he deserved it?” She was clearly affronted. “I dowsed it. I read the tarot, I cast the runes and, just to make certain, I even used the Ouija board, antiqu
ated as it is. It will be perfectly safe.”

  Sybil just looked at her. Everything was on the line; the moment was upon her faster than she’d ever dreaded. She was being called upon to risk Nick’s life, and the only guarantee he’d be safe was Leona’s powers—things Sybil believed in, worked for, things intrinsic to her very being. But could she risk Nick’s life for them?

  She would risk her own life, no question about it. If she was afraid of a dangerous situation and a dowser told her it was safe, she’d go into that situation full of trust. But she had no right to risk Nick’s life. When it came right down to it, was she trusting her beliefs, or trusting in Leona? No one was infallible, particularly in matters like these.

  “No,” she said firmly. “I can’t let you do it.”

  For a brief moment Leona’s face went perfectly blank. Then she shrugged her plump shoulders and smiled. “Well, it was a thought. We’ll just have to come up with a better notion.”

  The tension that had been singing through Sybil’s body vanished, and she smiled with real relief. “Don’t worry, Leona. We’ll figure out some way to get him off your case.”

  Leona smiled sweetly.

  EVERY NIGHT WHEN she drove past the Black Farm she searched for signs of habitation. It wasn’t until four days before Christmas that she saw the lights down at the end of that long driveway, the thin plume of smoke swirling up into the blackening sky.

  For half an hour she considered trumped-up excuses to visit him. For another half hour she berated herself for her weakness. For the third half hour she made plans. Whether she liked it or not, he had a devastating effect on her. The hoped-for lessening in her libido hadn’t yet taken effect, and the last thing she wanted was to immure herself in that old building with only Nick around, with his mesmerizing eyes, thin, sexy mouth and absolutely luscious body.

  Christmas shopping. Three days to Christmas, and she had a million things left to do. Her tree was standing in the corner farthest away from the drying effects of the wood stove, and the handmade ornaments and tiny white lights were beautiful and curiously depressing. Maybe if she bought some colored lights instead. Tacky ones, that flashed. She had to get stockings for the dogs, presents for Dulcy and Leona and the Mullers, and some wool for her next project. The flame-colored sweater was finished, and it was her worst job ever. It was too big at the top, too narrow at the bottom, the arms would fit an orangutan and the color turned her sallow. If worse came to worst, she’d give it to Nick; it might give her a malicious thrill to see him forced to wear it. Except that she was never going to see him again. He’d taken his dismissal and walked out of her life, and he wasn’t the forgiving type.

  Not that she’d done anything that warranted forgiveness-she’d made the smart decision and acted on it. It was all good. If she did see him they would both be polite, distant, nothing left of the bright and powerful magic they’d shared for a few short hours. She’d have no problem whatsoever. She just needed a day to convince herself before she ran the risk of running into him.

  The next day wasn’t everything Sybil had hoped for. Leona was more than willing to fill in at the office, and as Sybil drove by the Black Farm she saw a tall, familiar figure climbing into the dark green Jaguar. Her reaction was like a fist to the stomach. She stomped on the accelerator as hard as she could, fishtailing up the snow-covered road toward town.

  Eschewing the limited pleasures of St. Johnsbury, she headed for Burlington, for yuppie stores with gourmet chocolate and artisan coffees and Celtic music and imported cheeses. She didn’t get there often, and had every intention of spending a fortune.

  She bought half a pound of Champlain Chocolates and ate them all on the way home. She bought raspberry liqueur for the Muller sisters and a crystal for Leona. She bought dog stockings for the springers, silk stockings for Dulcy and nothing for herself. By the time she reached Danbury in midafternoon, the sun was already sinking lower in the gray December sky, her stomach was protesting the surfeit of chocolate, and she was very close to tears.

  The green Jaguar was parked outside the Davis Apartments. For a moment panic swept through her, and then she remembered that Leona would be at the office. They’d hardly be in the midst of a dangerous confrontation, and he couldn’t be in there searching her apartment—Gladys would have ripped his throat out.

  She drove past, very slowly. He was parked in front of the Mullers’ door. Sybil looked back at the liqueur. She had been planning to stop in on her way out to her house; she shouldn’t let Nick’s presence stop her. But was she ready to see him? She’d spent an almost wasted day in Burlington, simply to avoid him. Why spoil a perfect record of misery?

  She reached the deserted center of town, pulled a skidding U-turn, and headed back to the Mullers, just in time to see the Jaguar pull away, heading out toward the old road to Barton.

  Edla and Minna were just finishing up their tiny little glasses of sherry, and nothing would do but they had to share another with Sybil. She could see the third empty glass, the crumbs on the plate of Christmas cookies, but with great effort she waited, eating Miss Minna’s freshly baked spritz cookies and sipping the sweet cream sherry.

  It didn’t take long to get to the subject, and Sybil didn’t even have to bring it up. “I am worried about the professor, dear,” Miss Edla said.

  “Are you?” Sybil picked up a cookie shaped like a Christmas tree and licked the green sprinkles off it.

  “Do you think what he’s doing is particularly safe?”

  She raised her head sharply, her brown eyes meeting Miss Edla’s faded blue ones. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, if Everett Kellogg wanted visitors, I don’t think he’d live up in the Notch. And I think Leona must be wrong—the road must be impassable by now. I don’t think the professor should be heading out . . . Where are you going?”

  “After him.” Sybil had crammed the cookie into her mouth and jumped for her coat. “Was he going there this afternoon?”

  “Somehow he got the idea that it was the best time to go. I think Leona must be very confused—she told him that the road went all the way through in the winter. Of course, we don’t drive, but as I remember the road ends rather abruptly.”

  “Did you warn him?”

  “Well, no, dear. After all, Leona gave him complete instructions, and she does drive. I couldn’t very well contradict her, now could I?”

  She crammed the hat down on her head. “He’s heading for the Notch? He wasn’t going anywhere else first?”

  “He seemed to think we were due for another big storm, and if he didn’t go now, then he wouldn’t see Everett at all,” Miss Minna said. “Funny, the weatherman didn’t say anything about a storm.”

  “Damn,” Sybil said. “Bye, ladies.”

  She ran from the apartment, slamming the door behind her, and leaped into her car like a NASCAR driver. The Subaru purred into life, bless its engine, and she tore into the road, narrowly missing a milk truck while skidding sideways toward several parked cars, and finally straightening herself and her four wheels. She took off down the road like a bat out of hell, cursing under her breath.

  Leona simply didn’t realize how dangerous it was. The temperature was hovering around ten degrees, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. By the time the sun set and the half-moon had risen, the temperature would plummet, well below zero. Nick would be out there, stuck in a snowdrift, with his damned city shoes on and his damned city clothes, and if he didn’t get frostbite or worse he’d be a lucky man.

  She should have known Leona wouldn’t be discouraged so easily. She was a very stubborn woman, unfortunately convinced of her own infallibility. If her pendulum told her it was safe, she’d walk on water, and probably manage it, too, Sybil thought with a ghost of a smile. But Leona’s self-assurance wasn’t enough to keep Nick safe.

  It was quarter to four, and the shadows wer
e deepening around her on the deserted road. The old road to Barton was paved for the first three miles, and the coating of ice was treacherous indeed. Since the road went nowhere, only to a couple of farms, and then ended halfway up Gillam’s Notch, it wasn’t a high priority with the road crew. By the time she reached the gravel part, it hadn’t even been plowed since the last storm.

  The Jaguar tracks were ahead of her, narrow and elegant even with studded snow tires, but the green car was out of sight, heading for a road that ended in a snowbank or a cliff. He could take his pick.

  And if it was dark, and he didn’t know about the cliff, he might swerve to avoid that wall of snow left by the plow. There might be enough snow buildup along the side of the road to keep him from plunging over into the gulch, and there might not. Sybil shoved her booted foot down farther on the accelerator, ignoring the needle as it pushed past sixty.

  The Subaru didn’t like the speed. You weren’t supposed to use the four-wheel drive at speeds above fifty, but there was no way she was going to careen down this road at any speed less than her maximum, and no way she’d do it in two-wheel drive. If the poor car self-destructed, well, cars can be replaced. Nick Fitzsimmons couldn’t.

  She left the dim lights of the last farmhouse behind her and started climbing. It was getting very dark now, that twilight time when headlights made no dent in the thickening shadows, and Sybil kept cursing and praying under her breath. She tried to send a mental cloud of healing blue light around Nick, but her anxiety and panic kept interfering with it. All she could do was curse and pray and drive on.

  Higher and higher she climbed. In the darkness she couldn’t remember where the road usually ended, and out of necessity she slowed her desperate pace. As long as he didn’t go over the cliff, she’d get there in time. But despite all the heavy snow of late November and December, snowbanks along the narrow road were less than a foot high. A determined driver with the power of a Jaguar could go right through them.