Shades of Winter

by Linda Fallon

  “We’ll walk down the street arm in arm.”

  Again, she shook her head vigorously.

  “We’ll start a new life,” he said. “Together.”

  She pushed away from him, escaped from the false security of his warm embrace. “No. There will be no new life, and you and I are definitely not doing anything together.”

  “I think I love you,” Garrick said in a low voice.

  She slapped him soundly across the cheek.

  “You can hit me all you want,” he said without rancor. “It won’t change anything.”

  Suddenly Katherine realized what she’d done. Jerome had hit her, so many times she’d lost count the first year of their marriage. Was she just like him, now, lashing out at Garrick with her fists and the flat of her hand because he wouldn’t tell her what she wanted to hear? No, she couldn’t be like Jerome. She threaded her fingers and clasped her hands tightly.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I do …”

  “No,” she said, taking a quick step back. “Don’t say it again. Please don’t. I don’t want love. Not from you, not from anyone.”

  Garrick reached out a hand, but when she backed away so she’d be out of reach, he let that hand drop. “You’re too young to give up on love.”

  She lifted her chin. “Pretty words from a man whose idea of love is a trip to Savannah and a woman paid to warm his bed.” Yes, Garrick was just like his father. They didn’t dare to take their pleasures with any of the local willing women. As the richest family in Plummerville, that might cause some sort of scandal, and they could not afford lurid gossip or little Hunt bastards littering the streets. No, they both made trips to Savannah to buy their women. At least once a month, the Hunt men each managed to ride off on a purported business trip.

  Her anger faded quickly. If Lucien was correct, Garrick was a Hunt bastard. He hadn’t dealt with that news yet.

  “If you’ve been paying attention,” Garrick said tightly, “you will realize that I haven’t been to Savannah in five months.”

  “That doesn’t mean …”

  “It means maybe I want something more than a woman who warms my bed because she’s paid to do so. It means maybe I want something more in my life than work, my angry family, and shallow friendships.” He reached out to her again, and she didn’t back away this time. “Maybe I’m ready for love, Katherine.”

  She shook her head. “Love is just a pretty disguise. A trick of the heart. It can kill you, if you let it.”

  He shook his head.

  “I once loved Jerome,” she confessed in a shaking voice. “Before I knew what he was really like, I loved him with a young girl’s heart and unfailing optimism. That love died piece by piece, and it hurt. It still hurts.”

  “Is that why you won’t let him go?”

  Heaven above, it was true. She held Jerome with her. Did she think she could punish him for all his sins? Or did she believe that the love she’d once felt for him still lived, buried in her cold heart? It was a frightening thought.

  “I don’t know how,” she whispered.

  Twelve

  “A Viking?” O’Hara dropped his hands and took a step back.

  In all the excitement, Daisy had forgotten all about O’Hara’s power to see inside a person when he touched them. Oh, she never should’ve let him lay his hands on her! “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said primly, seeing denial as her only option.

  “Of course you do.” O’Hara sighed and shook his head, and when a ghostly form of a woman in white formed to circle around him, he waved his hand at her as if she were an annoying fly. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Women like you always go silly over Lionel.”

  Daisy wrinkled her nose. She shouldn’t have to explain away a brief whim, not to O’Hara. “I haven’t gone silly over anyone. And if I did, perchance, in the back of my mind think Lionel resembled a Viking in some vague way, it was an unconscious thought surely brought on by the fact that he is fairly tall and has long blond hair.”

  O’Hara scoffed.

  Turning the tables would be nice, right about now. “And what exactly does that mean? Women like you.”

  He didn’t answer her question. Instead he snorted, “Viking.”

  “I hardly think this is the time and place to get into an argument over some absurd, stray thought I might have had,” Daisy said. “Besides, my thoughts should be my own, no matter what or who they concern.”

  O’Hara’s face went strangely calm. Oh, she didn’t think that was a good sign, not at all.

  “I know why you like Lionel,” he said in a low, soothing voice.

  “I don’t like or dislike …” she began.

  O’Hara continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “He’s safe, isn’t he? Lionel Brandon is aloof and cool. He lives most of his life off in another world, so he can’t possibly be a threat to you.”

  “That’s the most ridiculous …”

  “He’s not real. You see a pretty face and you dream of Vikings.”

  “I did not dream of Vikings,” she insisted.

  “Yes, you did,” O’Hara whispered. “You just don’t remember.”

  She felt a rush of warmth to her cheeks. “Even if I did …”

  “You’ve been pushing me away since we got here,” O’Hara insisted. “I’m not a pretty picture, and no matter what abilities I have, I make an effort to live very solidly in this world. I’m real, Daisy. Are you really so afraid that a real man might hurt you?”

  Her heart thudded too hard in her chest, and it had nothing to do with ghosts and haunted houses. She wondered how much O’Hara had seen, when he’d touched her. “Now that you’ve laid your hands on me, does that mean you know … everything?” That last word came out as a high-pitched squeak.

  “Of course not,” he said testily. “No one sees everything. We’re not meant to see everything. I have no control over what comes through when I touch someone or something.”

  “Is the power, uh, only in your hands?”

  “Yes.”

  So if he ever actually kissed her he wouldn’t see anything he wasn’t supposed to see, as long as he kept those hands to himself.

  “What else do you know about me, besides that silly notion that I thought Lionel might resemble a Viking?” She held her breath and awaited his answer.

  O’Hara crossed his arms over his chest. Oh, he was still annoyed with her! “Nothing shocking,” he said in a low voice. “You’re much stronger than you allow others to believe, stronger than you know. You have a good heart. When you love someone, you love them completely,” he added in a lower voice. “And you hate squash.”

  “Mother always kept a garden,” she explained. “There were a couple of summers that we had an abundance of squash. She served it at every meal. She even tried to make me eat it for breakfast once!” She shuddered. “I do despise squash.”

  “Fascinating,” O’Hara said dryly.

  Since she and O’Hara were standing apart, the ghosts around them began to take shape again. Together, they were stronger, less afraid. Apart, as they were now, they were more vulnerable. The female ghost in white, another woman, two older men. They circled and floated around the room, and one of the women settled on the bed. Daisy tried to keep track of their movements, her head turning this way and that as the haunting spirits twisted and turned.

  When one of the men drew a misty knife, she let out another high-pitched squeak. Real or not, the reenacted murders were painful to watch.

  “They can’t hurt you,” O’Hara assured her. “Don’t look at them, look at me.”

  She focused her eyes on his shadowy image in the dark room. There was just enough moonlight to keep them from being lost in complete darkness. She couldn’t deny that she was glad O’Hara was here. No one else in this house could make her feel more protected. “How can I not be frightened?” she whispered.

  “Think of Vikings,” he said sharply.

  Daisy sighed. “I’m not … you only saw a ti
ny portion of …” There was no good way to talk her way out of this one! “Oh, you are the most impossible man!”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you, Quigley Tibbot O’Hara.”

  “That’s not very sporting of you,” he said sullenly, “to bring up my name at a time like this.”

  She was so afraid. She was afraid of everything and had been for a very long time. Not of the ghosts O’Hara assured her would not hurt them. She didn’t think he would lie to her about that. She was more afraid of living than she was of dying. Maybe O’Hara was right, and she was drawn to Lionel Brandon because in her heart she knew he was no threat to her.

  And deep inside, she wanted that kiss she’d almost gotten.

  O’Hara would never kiss her, now. One all too brief touch, and he believed she was besotted over Lionel merely because he was beautiful.

  She looked at the ghost on the bed, the sad-looking woman who lounged there … a foot or two off the mattress. “Leave,” Daisy said succinctly. She looked at all the spirits in turn. “All of you, just go. I know you mean to be frightening, but in truth you’re simply annoying. Each and every one of you looks more sad than threatening. So go.” She waved her hand much as O’Hara had, shooing them away. “I can’t carry on a private conversation with all of you watching.”

  One by one they did as she asked. She suspected the only evil spirit in this hotel was Scrydan himself. The others were as trapped as she and O’Hara.

  “It worked,” O’Hara said. He sounded more than a little surprised.

  “Of course it worked.”

  “Most women would be hysterical, right about now.”

  “I’m not most women.”

  “No, you are not,” O’Hara said softly.

  Daisy closed the distance between them. She took a deep breath before reaching out and taking O’Hara’s right hand with hers, as if for a handshake. But instead of shaking his hand she held it tight, palm to palm, fingers snugly closed. His hand was so large it engulfed hers. And it was warm. Wonderfully warm in this chilly room. His fingers tightened and loosened. His eyes drifted closed.

  “For a very long time,” she said, “I’ve been afraid to let anyone know me the way you now do. Maybe you can’t see everything, but I believe you can see more of me than you did before. I believe you can see further than my dislike of a particular vegetable or a silly, passing notion about a man I didn’t even know when I allowed my mind to … wander.”

  “Daisy,” O’Hara whispered. He tried to pull his hand away, but she held on tight.

  “Maybe you’re right, about me living safely and setting my mind on men who won’t ever be a threat to my heart. Maybe I do push away any man who might mean more to me than a passing pretty face.”

  “I never should’ve said those things,” he said. “I was angry.”

  “It’s all right to be angry,” she whispered. “Losing your temper is a part of living, isn’t it?” She shook her head. “O’Hara, I can’t even remember the last time I cared enough about anything to get angry.”

  His hand gripped hers tightly. “Daisy, I’m trying not to pry, I’m trying not to see any more … but I don’t have that kind of control. I can only block you for so long. Let go of my hand.”

  She shook her head. “If Scrydan wins and we die in this house … I don’t want to go alone. I want to be holding hands with someone who knows the real me. All of me, good and bad. I don’t want you to block anything.”

  O’Hara reached out his left hand and laid it on her cheek. She closed her eyes and let him caress her there, his fingers gentle and knowing. And she was afraid. Not of the ghosts, not even of Scrydan. She was afraid of what O’Hara would think of her when he let his hands fall.

  Eve caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the dusty dresser. Good heavens, she looked as frightful as any ghost! Her hair was down, tangled and waving in all directions. Her face was too pale. And her dress … her wonderfully elegant wedding gown was ruined. It was stained in several places, and there were a few tears. Nothing major, just popped stitches and missing seed pearls. The bodice was oddly misshapen, the once pristine skirt so wrinkled it couldn’t possibly be saved. Tears filled her eyes and dulled the image.

  If Scrydan was right they were all going to die in this hotel, and she was crying over a ruined gown! A ruined wedding gown, a white symbol of purity and celebration and forever. A symbol of the life she wanted so badly and would never have.

  “Oddly enough, he thinks you’re beautiful,” Scrydan said.

  Eve turned to look at the man who was bound to the bed. Scrydan … using Lucien’s face and body … sneered at her. “Just keep quiet,” she insisted, wiping away the tears. “I don’t want to hear another word from you.”

  “What are you going to do?” he asked. “Gag me?”

  “I might,” she whispered.

  “And what will you do if Lucien comes back and wants to speak to you? What if he wants to tell you that he loved you to the very end? What if he wants one last kiss?” He flicked his tongue at her in an obscene way.

  “Gagging you is sounding more and more like an excellent idea.”

  Scrydan’s eyes turned to a corner of the room, and his wicked smile faded. “Silencing me is a chance you won’t take.”

  Eve turned to look into the dim corner that had drawn Scrydan’s attention. Did something move there? Yes. A shadow in a shadow. A shift of the low light.

  She had channeled Viola Stamper, for short periods of time, while she and Lucien had been trying to solve the mystery of her murder. Could this newly arrived ghost possess her the way Scrydan had possessed Lucien? She wasn’t sure the weakened spirit was capable of taking over her body, but the last thing she needed was to be controlled by a force who was in Scrydan’s command.

  Lucien often spoke of building walls in the mind, to keep unwanted spirits out. Eve constructed those walls within her own mind, as the figure in the corner twisted and turned.

  She forgot about the ghost when she heard a scraping noise in the hallway, as if someone or something were being dragged slowly down the hallway. For a long moment she held her breath. The scraping sound came closer and closer. Something breathed raggedly. Scrydan was holding the door closed. Could he open it if he wanted whatever was out there to enter this room?

  “Eve,” a soft voice whispered.

  Relief rushed through her body, making her weak in the knees. “Hugh?” she said as she laid the flat of her hand against the door. “Are you all right?”

  He hesitated. “I’m not sure. I hit my head and everything’s rather … muddled. It’s very dark. I only found the door because I felt my way down the hall. What happened?”

  Eve explained, as simply as she could, what had happened and where the others were.

  “Whatever you do,” Hugh said, “don’t release Lucien.”

  “It’s not Lucien,” she said in a low voice.

  “That’s right.” His words were slightly slurred. “He’s not …” Hugh shifted against the door. “Eve, something’s here.”

  “Hugh!” Eve banged her fist against the door. “Block it. You can keep it out.”

  There was no answer, not even when she banged on the door and shouted his name. She sank to her knees to move herself closer to the man on the other side of the door. “Hugh!”

  “We could walk out of here right now,” Scrydan said casually. “Just you and me. Once I’m a few miles away from the hotel, everything will return to normal and your friends will be safe.”

  She stood quickly and spun to face him. “You’re a liar. You said Hugh was dead.” He’d said other things, too, about the ways her friends would die before the night was over.

  “Are you sure that was Hugh?” he asked with a smile. “It might’ve been a figment of your imagination, or a ghost masquerading as your friend. It might have been anything at all.”

  She shook her head.

  “You can save them,” Scrydan whispered. “Only you. And in reward I will g
ive you anything you want. Beauty. Riches. Fame.”

  As Eve walked toward the bed, Scrydan smiled at her. She leaned down, moved in so close she could feel the heat radiating off his body. But she stopped before she got too close. “You’re a liar.”

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  “And all I want is Lucien.”

  Scrydan yanked against his bonds. He was getting no stronger, that she could tell. When he grew strong enough to free himself … how would she stop him?

  *

  Jerome had vanished, for the moment, but Katherine suspected he was still there. Watching. Waiting. The flame of their single candle flickered, and as it did Garrick reached out and took her hand. Neither of them wanted to be lost in darkness.

  “Come over here,” Garrick said gently. “You need to sit down.” He sat on the only chair in the room and pulled her onto his lap.

  “I don’t …” she began, as she started to rise.

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and tugged, and she fell back onto his lap. “I need to sit,” he said. “And I don’t want to sit alone.” He shifted his arms so they were firmly around her, but not holding on too tight. “Please, Katherine.”

  She didn’t think she had ever heard Garrick Hunt say please! So she stayed. It was nice, considering the circumstances, to be so close to another human being. To be warm. She stayed where she was, sitting on Garrick’s lap, and told herself that she stayed for his sake, not her own. She stayed because he asked it of her, not because she liked the way he held her. Not because for the first time in years she was not alone.

  Katherine watched the candlelight flickering and prayed that it would stay strong and bright. She didn’t want to be lost in the black of night. She didn’t want Jerome to come after her in the dark.

  “When we get out of here …” Garrick said in a lowered voice.

  “If we get out,” Katherine said sharply. “If.”

  “When get out of here,” he began again, “and we return to Plummerville, would you give me permission to call on you?”

  Her heart leapt. “Of course not.”

  “Why not?”

  “For one thing, you’re going out west. I see no reason to … to start something we’re not going to be able to finish.”