by Sandy Wright
"I remember," he said in a mock whisper, "but it's a secret. If I told you, I'd have to kill you."
I stopped at the truck and wheeled around. "Not funny."
"Oh, come on Sam. Lighten up," he joked, putting his hands on each side of the truck door and capturing me between them. He leaned in to kiss me, and I remembered how angry he'd been when I turned aside the last time. I let his lips settle onto mine and held my breath. His kiss was light, gentle. Experienced. He leaned his body in to make contact with mine, and I let him. We kissed for a few seconds and then I gently pushed him away.
Nuin pressed his lips against my neck. Stopped. Took a step back. He unwound my scarf and lowered his gaze to my throat. "You're not wearing my necklace."
I put a hand to my throat, fingered the gold chain I'd put on that morning "I don't wear it every day."
His interruption was quiet but insistent. "I would like you to wear it every day. Think about me every day. That's what I want you to do. Think about me every day."
He tweaked my nose playfully and gave me a last quick kiss, then turned to leave. I let him go in silence. One by one, I was discovering that the men in this town harbored secrets below the surface of their confident, magickal exteriors. Nuin made two. Yes, he was beautiful. Beautiful and arrogant, and sexy…and creepy.
Chapter 30: Cutting the Yule Tree
"Honey, don't worry, I can handle the store by myself for one Saturday."
Rumor's reassurance did nothing to assuage my guilt at leaving her alone on our busiest day of the week. But I would have to return Bella's book to Nicholas tomorrow and was determined to copy it for myself before doing so. "Are you absolutely sure?"
"You could bribe me with the promise of pizza and beer tonight after work."
"Deal," I told her. "My house at seven."
I had the last entry finished in time to order a chicken Alfredo pizza from Picasso's, ice a carton of Pacificos and slice up a lime before she arrived.
After we had stuffed our bellies like hops-filled ticks, and moved to the rocking chairs on the front porch, I was relaxed enough to bring up the subject niggling my brain, and other parts as well, all weekend.
"How old do you think Nicholas is?" Despite the threat to my life and the odd occurrences swirling around me, this minor issue bothered me. Was Nicholas too old for me romantically? I fervently hoped he wasn't. I'd take anything within say, fifteen years of my current twenty-eight.
She twirled her beer bottle, considering my question.
"Chronologically?"
She broke the word down, chron…o…log…ic…ally, trying out the syllables one by one to get them off her tongue in the proper order. "Or emotionally?"
"Huh?"
"I'd guess he's late-thirties, maybe forty." She giggled. "It's hard to tell with the tall, lanky ones, though. They tend to hold together better. He might be older." She giggled again. "And his pale face hasn't been in the Arizona sun for long. He has youthful skin."
She was drunk. I should have known better than to bring up the subject after three beers. But why stop now? "What about emotionally?"
"'Bout a century."
I snorted, spraying beer on the table. Just a teensy bit. Then I sobered suddenly. "Do you think he's dangerous?"
"Dangerous?" Rumor looked at me, solemn as an owl. "No, I do not think he's dangerous. I think he's sad." She burped, but covered her mouth discreetly. "He's an ooold soul."
"Okay, I'll bite. What do you mean?" I mopped up my beer with the sleeve of my sweatshirt.
She paused and twirled a lock of her straight dark hair. "It seems like he's seen a lot of bad things in his life, more than his share. It's hardened him." She paused again, looking at me with a slightly weaving head. "And it's made him lonely. Sooo lonely." She dropped her cheek onto her hands. "He needs to get laid."
Time to drive Rumor home and put her to bed. My inebriated partner was making way too much sense.
* * * * *
I recognized Nicholas's nasty mood as soon as I opened the door the next morning. He held his hand out, palm up. "The book please."
So much for 'tis the season.
I retreated into the den, pulled the leather book from the desk and turned to find him studying Sinclair's raven-woman in the credenza.
"May I touch it?" he asked.
Grateful for the distraction, I pulled the statue from its perch and handed it to him.
An amazing array of reactions flooded Nicholas as he held the carving, his expression changing from irritated to puzzled, ending with barely controlled excitement. His thin pale fingers were flushed deep pink, as if the tips were sunburned. "Where did you get this?"
I pried the statue gently from his hands. "It's beautiful, isn't it? Sinclair, Rod Standing Bear's uncle, carved it for me."
Nicholas shook his head, not making the connection.
"The shaman I met on the mountain. The one who told me the prophecy."
Nicholas took the statue again and held it for a long moment with his eyes closed. "I'd like to meet him," he said suddenly. "Would you introduce me?"
"It's not so simple. He's not exactly sociable." I hesitated. "The only reason he agreed to meet with me is because Standing Bear asked him to."
He put the statue back on the shelf, his hands still flushed and trembling slightly, I noticed. "Then how about an introduction to Mr. Standing Bear?"
"I can arrange it." I looked at him quizzically, wondering why he was so excited.
His eyes dropped to the grimoire on the desk. He turned it over and examined it for any damage, and checked to be sure it was locked. "We'll talk about this later," he growled.
"As you wish, dark prince." Picking up my coat and gloves, I escorted him out the door with a determined smile, locking it behind us.
Nicholas drove north toward Flagstaff through increasingly dense ponderosa pine forest. The morning was bright and cold. While I felt magnanimous and oddly unashamed of stealing his book, I did owe him an apology.
"Nicholas, I'm really sorry I took the book."
"Where is the key?"
This was going to be tricky. "What key?"
"The key to open it."
Nicholas's voice was calm and he kept his eyes on the road. But I knew his moods well enough now to know calm wasn't a good sign.
"I don't have a key."
He shot me a quick glance. "You're lying Samantha. Remember my rule about lying? I know you've opened it."
It wasn't a question but an assumption. So I shrugged and looked out the window, which ended the conversation for the rest of the drive.
We turned off onto a forest road, meeting up with the others about three miles after the pavement gave way to dirt.
Rumor, looking wan, greeted us when we pulled in. She gave me a hug and whispered in my ear, "Thanks for driving me home last night." She turned to Nicholas. "We have extra gear in Nuin's truck."
Nicholas pulled out an axe and leather gloves and stomped away into the woods. I let him go work off his mood. He had a weapon, and I'd already witnessed his lack of control when angered. The rest of us trailed behind, looking for a tree for Maya's front room.
Within a quarter hour, we found a perfect specimen, a little over ten feet, damp, and fresh-smelling with a straight trunk and dense foliage.
Nuin whistled and Nicholas returned with the axe. He chopped a notch into the base of the tree's trunk. Nuin picked up a saw to help, but Nicholas waved him off and continued to chop with rhythmic strokes, a sheen of sweat forming on his forehead and dampening his hair.
Lilith watched him intently, edging ever closer, the tip of her tongue captured between her teeth. When Nicholas gave the trunk a final blow and the tree toppled, the branches brushed Lilith's booted toes as she side-stepped to stand beside him. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a sleeve and handed her the axe, no longer looking the slightest bit angry.
Nuin and Nicholas picked up the tree by t
ip and trunk and carried it back to the pickup. While we placed it in the bed and tied it, Maya poured cups of hot cocoa from a thermos. We dropped the tailgates of both trucks and sat across from each other, sipping the scalding sweet brew.
I watched Nicholas as we relaxed, trying to be inconspicuous and not stare. He sat next to Lilith, his head bent down to hers, laughing. His pale face was flushed from cold and physical exertion.
Rumor nudged me and I reluctantly turned away from the scene. "So, do you have your Christmas shopping done?" I asked her with a too-bright smile.
"Sam, are you okay?"
"Of course." I kept the cheery smile glued on my face. "I haven't even started mine. Want to try to get some done soon?"
"There are a couple of shops here in Flagstaff I'd like to see," she said. "Why don't we go from here?"
I hesitated. "But I rode up with Nicholas."
She jumped down from the pickup. "Let's go tell him you can go back with me. Oh, and I heard Lilith ask him for a ride home earlier. You two can just switch. I'm sure she wouldn't mind."
I glared at Rumor. Traitor! Don't you remember anything of our conversation last night? This was not the day's end I had envisioned. "I'm quite sure she won't mind," I fumed.
Lilith's sly smile confirmed it
Chapter 31: Three Wise Men
I was miserable on the drive to Flagstaff. Rumor was contrite."I didn't think about Lilith," she lamented. "But don't worry about Nicholas. He's crazy about you. Lilith doesn't stand a chance."
I appreciated her support, but didn't share her optimism.
"What are you going to give him for Yule?"
She slanted me a quick glance.
Another dilemma. What did one get a man who had traveled and lived on two continents with magical family members? I didn't know much of his tastes and most of what I did know had come as a surprise.
Complicating matters further, I wasn't sure he'd get anything for me. We'd all drawn names out of the cauldron, and I had drawn Maya's name, not his. Still, he was my teacher, so I should get him something. I decided to start with the easy gifts and worry about Nicholas later.
At the Calico Cat I bought plaid holiday collars–green tartan for Magic and red plaid for Shadow–each with its own little bell. Perhaps if they jingled we'd be able to keep track of them.
Maya's gift presented itself to me as we walked down a side street looking for a vegan restaurant Rumor had read about and wanted to try. At the junk shop next door, a bright flash caught my eye. I returned for a closer look.
Nestled in the folds of old fabric decorating the window sat a small crystal sphere: a snow globe on a wooden base carved with leaves and acorns.
I stepped inside the shop and picked up the glass orb. Shaking it gently, I watched the glittering crystal snowflakes subside to reveal a goddess-woman in a forest meadow. She seemed to be dancing, and flowers of every color dotted the meadow floor beneath her bare feet. Kitschy eclectic, I thought.
I called Rumor over to look and shook the globe again.
"Oh cool, bees," she said, staring into the globe.
What? I looked again. This time the crystal snowflakes had been replaced with a swarm of tiny golden honeybees, circling the goddess' head as she bent to pick the flowers growing at her feet.
Puzzled, I shook the globe a third time. Swirling fall leaves, sparkling orange and red, filled the globe. The goddess figure was no longer a young woman, but middle-aged in a dark green cape, smiling as she held her hands over her head.
Rumor looked at me over the globe. "Maya," we said in unison.
The man tending the shop had been watching us in amusement, leaning against the doorframe as we giggled in front of him.
"I am Theodore Dyer," he said, with a little bow of his head. "It's an unusual gift, don't you think?" He gave me an exaggerated wink. "It will be perfect for your Yule gift. I know these things."
I didn't even ask him how much the globe cost, just handed it to him to ring up.
"Seven dollars please," he told me as he carefully wrapped my find in layers of tissue and put it in a silver gift box.
"Now if I could have the same luck finding something for Nicholas," I told Rumor as she locked our packages in the trunk of the car. We walked next door to the restaurant she had spotted earlier.
"What is Nicholas interested in?" Rumor asked over our lunches of spicy soup and curry potatoes with green pepper.
"Hmm, he's a tough one. Cooking? Wreath making? Fire starting?"
She gave me a questioning look.
"Don't ask." I shook my head. "The only places we've been are his house, my house and the Christmas tree lot." I envisioned Nicholas's house, mentally moving from room to room and cataloguing the contents for clues.
"Wait! I have an idea." I opened my phone and typed in a search for "bookstores." New or used? I had a thought about Nicholas's library. Used, I thought, running my finger down the list. There were several bookstores since Flagstaff was a college town, but only one entry for rare books. I jotted down the telephone number and pulled up directions on GPS. "Eat up, we have more shopping to do."
* * * * *
We climbed the wooden steps to Ravenscroft Rare Books. The dark red lettering on the ornate sign proclaimed "Antiquarian and Intriguing Books." A small bell tinkled softly when we opened the door and entered the stuffy interior.
An elderly gentleman with thick white hair and a monocle sat at an antique desk near the front of the store. Under the light of his green banker's lamp, he examined a small leather book with gold-leaf edging. He raised a thin-veined hand in greeting at the sound of the bell but did not look up.
Ravenscroft's smelled like a church—a combination of aged paper and incense. It was crammed to the rafters with books bound in vellum, speckled calf and deep red Moroccan leather, all lovingly polished and waxed, adding to the rich scent of the room.
We wandered the narrow aisles and read the subject sections, pointing out topics to each other in whispered voices: Ancient Culture, The Classics, Religion and Occult. I didn't know exactly what I was looking for, but I knew I was in the right place. As in Nicholas's study, I prowled the aisles, trailing my fingertips along the long rows of books. This time, I closed my eyes, pulling out a book here and there at random. I would open it to any page, read a few lines, and try to conjure an image of the book's former owner. I imagined many a wealthy bibliophile had passed from this world and willed his vast library of gems to Ravenscroft for eternal safekeeping, knowing his beloved friends would be in caring hands.
I heard a footstep behind us, and a small sound of a throat being cleared.
"I'm Noah Ravenscroft. May I help you find a selection?"
Below the bush of white hair, Mr. Ravenscroft's pale blue eyes were bright and intelligent.
"I really have no idea what I'm looking for," I told him, "except something dealing with magic or the occult."
He led me around a stack of books to an unmarked row of volumes. Peering at the titles through his monocle, he walked slowly down the row, muttering to himself. "I know it's here, but I haven't shown this volume in years…ah, yes."
He pulled three pairs of white cotton gloves out of his pocket, handing one pair to me and one to Rumor. Gingerly, he picked up a copy of a thin book bound in mottled green leather that looked as if it had once been a lizard. "I rather think your gentleman would enjoy this volume," he said softly, handing it to me.
"I'm afraid I'm not familiar enough with his library to know what he already has," I began hesitantly.
The birdlike little man rested a gloved hand on my arm. "I can assure you he does not have this particular volume. It's one of a kind."
The title, inked by hand on the spine in spiky black script, read, The Sinister Tradition. I opened it carefully. Inside the front cover was an inscription: Potestatem obscuri nescitis.
He squinted, considering the translation. "You know not the power of the dark."
I slowly raised my eyes to meet his. "And you think this is an appropriate gift because?"
"This volume is for the gentleman staying at the Orenda house, is it not?"
I exchanged a surprised look with Rumor before asking, "How do you know who it's for?"
An enigmatic smile flitted across Ravenscroft's face and quickly disappeared, but the bright eyes behind the spectacles never wavered from mine. "These communities are small, my dear. Many of us have lived around here for decades. People talk. I listen and hear things." He flicked his hand through the air as if shooing away a fly. "Take it. No charge. If your friend has no use for the volume, bring it back."
He stepped toward the front counter, but stopped. Giving us a stern librarian's look, he held up his gloved hands and waggled his fingers. "Keep the gloves and use them every time you touch this volume. Same goes for Mr. Orenda."
As Ravenscroft wrapped my gift in brown butcher paper, I pulled out the business card I'd found stuck between pages of the grimoire.
"Are you familiar with this store?"
He took the card and read it, shaking his head. "This shop has been closed for several years." Seeing my disappointment, he smiled and added, "But Jaco still lives here. Would you like his address and number?"
* * * * *
On the street outside, Rumor tugged my arm. "Wow. He was weird and so was the store. And don't ask me to help you wrap that book." She shuddered.
"Yeah, well, welcome to my world," I muttered, pulling out my cell phone to dial the number Ravenscroft had written down for me.
A thick-accented voice answered. "Jaco Hunsley."
"Mr. Hunsley," I began, "you don't know me but –"
"Then why are you calling?"
"I got your name from a client, Bella Orenda."
