The Wicked and the Wondrous

by Christine Feehan

  “Holy cow, Jess,” Trevor began.

  “You don’t need to say a word, young man,” Jessica stopped him. She kept her eyes averted from Dillon; it was the only safe thing to do. She noticed it was awkward for him to manipulate the bandage into place. The brush of his fingers was like a caress against her skin, the glove stroked across her hand as he worked. Her body clenched more with each graze. She trembled. His hand tightened around hers, brought her injured palm to his chest, right over his heart.

  “I think that should protect it, baby,” he said gently. He caught her waist, only his gloves preventing him from touching her bare skin as he helped her to the floor. “It doesn’t hurt, does it?”

  She shook her head. “Thanks, Dillon, I appreciate it.”

  “How long is the darned thing going to take to heal?” Don demanded. “We need her to play. We’re not nearly finished.”

  “I laid down several different guitar tracks earlier today, before you were up,” Jessica said. “I wanted to try a few things, so at least you have something to work with.” She moved cautiously around Dillon’s large frame, careful not to touch his body with hers. She curled her fingers in Trevor’s hair, needing to touch him, but not wanting to injure his boyish pride by making too big a fuss now that he was safe.

  “What things?” Robert asked curiously, a hint of eagerness in his voice. “I thought bringing in the sax was a perfect touch. The orchestral background worked like magic. You have some great ideas, Jess.”

  Jessica gave him a quick grin of thanks. “I wanted to record a few different guitar sounds. I used the progression we started with yesterday but enhanced it with some melodic embellishments. I wanted an edgy sound to go with the lyrics so I used the Les Paul for rhythm. I still would like to do a little more layering. You should listen to it, Robert, and see what you think. I thought we might use the Strat for lead over the rhythm. The different sounds layered might really add to the piece.”

  “Or make it too busy,” Don objected. “Dillon has a hell of voice, we can’t just blast over the top of him.”

  “But that’s the beauty of it, Don,” Jessica countered. “We’re still sticking to basic sounds. Very simple. Layering allows us to do that.”

  Brenda slumped over the tabletop dramatically. “Just one night I’d like to talk about something other than music.”

  “I thought they were talking in a foreign language,” Tara said. She pulled out the chair beside her aunt. “Boring.”

  Jessica laughed at her. “You just want that hot chocolate I promised you. I’ll get it for you. Trevor? Anyone else?”

  “You shouldn’t be so careless, Jessie,” Don reprimanded. “We only have a short time to get this together. You can’t afford to damage your hands.”

  She paused in the act of removing mugs from the cupboard. “I don’t honestly remember you being such a jerk, Don. Have you always been this way, or just recently?” If he took one more potshot at Dillon she was afraid she might throw a mug at his head. She didn’t look at Dillon as she took the milk and chocolate from the refrigerator. There were wounds that went deep and Don seemed to want to rake at them. Jessica set everything very carefully on the counter and smiled sweetly, expectantly, at Don.

  Trevor and Tara exchanged a long, amused glance. They’d heard Jessica use that tone before and it didn’t bode well for Don. Tara nudged Brenda to include her, and was rewarded with a small smirk and a raised eyebrow.

  “I didn’t mean anything by it, Jess—everyone’s too sensitive,” Don replied defensively.

  “I suppose we’ll all overlook it this time but you need to work on your social skills. Some things are acceptable and some things aren’t.” Without turning her head she raised her voice. “You’d better not be mimicking me, Trev.”

  The twins exchanged another quick grin. Trevor had been mouthing the words, having heard them said numerous times. “Wouldn’t think of it,” he said cheekily.

  “Dillon, would you like me to make you a cup of hot chocolate?” Jessica offered.

  Dillon shook his head adamantly, shuddering at the mere thought of it. “I can’t bear to look at the stuff. I had enough of that at the burn center.”

  “Why do you keep it then?” Jessica asked curiously.

  “For Paul, of course.” Dillon grinned boyishly at his friend. “He practically lives on the stuff. I think it’s his one vice.”

  Jessica held up a mug. “How about you then, Paul?”

  “Not tonight, I’ve had enough excitement. It might keep me up.” He ruffled Tara’s hair. “I figure we can share it until Christmas, then I expect it to be replaced by gift certificates and Hershey bonuses.”

  “I write lovely I.O.U.’s,” Tara announced. “Just ask Trev.”

  “And you’ll be old before you can cash them in,” Trevor warned Paul. “But her handwriting is beautiful.”

  “So true, I’m vain about my handwriting. I need to be famous so I can sign autographs.” Tara took a sip of the chocolate. “Why did you have too much chocolate at the burn center, Dad?”

  There was a small silence. Brenda casually draped her arm around Tara. “Good question. What did they do, make you live on the stuff?”

  “Actually, yes.” Dillon looked across the room at Paul, a vulnerable, almost helpless look on his handsome face. It was so at odds with his usual commanding presence, his expression tugged at Jessica’s heartstrings.

  It was Paul who answered very matter-of-factly. “Burn patients need calories, Tara, lots and lots of calories. Where your father was, they made drinks using chocolate. You’d think they would taste good, but they didn’t—the mixture was awful, and he was forced to drink them all the time.”

  “They ruined chocolate for you?” Tara was outraged. “That’s terrible.”

  Dillon gave her his heart-stopping, lopsided grin. “I guess it was a small price to pay for surviving.”

  “Chocolate is my comfort drink,” Tara admitted. “What’s yours?”

  “I never really thought about it,” he admitted. His blue gaze was drawn to Jessica. There had been no comfort in his life since he’d lost his family, lost his music, lost everything that mattered to him. Until Jessica. He felt a sense of peace when he was with her. In spite of the overwhelming emotions, the explosive chemistry, in spite of all of it, when she was near him, he felt comforted. He could hardly say that to his thirteen-year-old daughter. If he didn’t understand it, how could anyone else?

  “I like that thought, Tara,” Paul said, “I use chocolate for my comfort drink, too.”

  “Coffee, black as can be,” Brenda chimed in. “Robert likes a martini.” She smiled up at him. “I drive him to drink.”

  “You drive everyone to drink,” Brian pointed out.

  “You were swilling six-packs of beer long before I ever came on the scene,” Brenda said, looking bored. “Your sins are all your own.”

  “We went to kindergarten together,” Brian reminded everyone.

  “And you were already beyond salvation.”

  “Give it a rest,” Don begged.

  Jessica thought it a perfect time to change the subject. “By the way, who owns the long, hooded cape?” She asked with feigned indifference. “It’s quite dramatic.”

  “I have one,” Dillon said. “I used it onstage years ago. I haven’t thought of it in years. What in the world made you ask?”

  “I’ve seen it a couple of times,” Jessica said, her eyes meeting Tara’s as they sipped their chocolate. “It was so different, I wanted to get a look at it up close.”

  “It has to be here somewhere,” Dillon said, “I’ll look around for it.”

  A chill seemed to creep into the room with her question. Jessica shivered. Once again the terrible suspicion found its way into her mind. Had someone deliberately lured Trevor to that exact spot? It wasn’t possible. No one could actually predict a rockslide closely enough to set a trap. She was really becoming paranoid. Dillon couldn’t have been the one wearing the cape when the r
ockslide had buried Trevor because Dillon had been with her. She glanced around the room surreptitiously, realizing she really knew very little about the other band members.

  “I remember that cape!” Brenda sat up very straight with a wide smile. “Do you remember, Robert? Viv loved it. She was always swirling it around her and pretending to be a vampire. Dillon, we borrowed it from you for that Hollywood Halloween thing, Robert wore it, remember hon?” She looked up at her husband, patting his hands as he gently massaged her shoulders.

  “I remember it,” Paul said. “It was hanging in your closet, Dillon, at least it was a month ago. I hung your shirts up when they came back from the laundry service. Viv thought vampire and you thought magician.”

  “I thought women,” Brian said. “You know how many women wanted to see me in that cape and nothing else?” He puffed out his chest.

  “Ugh,” Tara wrinkled her nose. “That’s totally gross.”

  “That’s beyond gross, Brian,” Brenda protested, “I’ll never get the picture out of my mind.” She covered her face with her hands.

  “You loved it,” Brian pounced immediately. “You begged me.”

  “Way too much information,” Jessica cautioned.

  “I did not, you idiot!” Brenda was outraged. “I may be many things, Brian, but I have taste. Seeing you prance around naked in a vampire cape is not my idea of sexy.”

  “You know, Brian,” Robert said conversationally, “I actually like you. But I may have to shove your teeth down your throat if you aren’t more careful in the way you choose to taunt my wife.”

  “Wow! That’s so cool,” Tara said, her blue eyes shining up at him. “He’s pretty cool, after all, Brenda.”

  Brenda grinned at her in complete agreement. “He is, isn’t he?”

  Dillon leaned against Jessica, trapping her body between his large frame and the counter. “That cape might have possibilities,” he whispered wickedly against her bare neck. His teeth skimmed very close to her pulse as if he might bite into her exposed skin.

  “Not with knowing what Brian was doing in it,” she whispered back. She pushed back against him, resting her bottom very casually against him. With the counter between their bodies and the rest of the room, no one could see her blatantly tempting him. She ached for him, her body heavy and needful. She wanted to turn into his arms, be held by him, and lie beside him, under him. She wanted to see his blue eyes blazing, burning for her alone.

  Dillon savored the feel of her small, curved bottom pressed tightly against him. He was becoming used to walking around in a continual state of arousal. At least, he knew he was alive. She had the softest skin, and smelled so enticing he couldn’t think of too much else when she was near. He cleared his throat, trying to pull his mind away from the thought of her body.

  “Are you going to tell us about your Christmas trees?” Dillon wanted to find a way to connect with the children. They always seemed just out of his grasp. He reached around Jessica to remove the mug of chocolate from her hand. The smell was making him feel slightly sick and he wanted to inhale her delicate scent. To think about the possibility of a future, not remember the agony of where he had been. Jessica gave him such hope. His arms caged her, brought his chest in contact with the sweeping line of her back. She was the bridge between Dillon and the children. She was the bridge that led from merely existing to living life.

  “We found two that might work,” Trevor said, “but neither was perfect.”

  “Does a Christmas tree have to be perfect?” Don asked.

  “Perfect for us,” Trevor answered before Jessica could draw a breath and breathe fire. “We know what we’re looking for, don’t we, Tara?”

  “Well, next time you’d better be a little more careful and stay on the trails,” Dillon cautioned, using his most authoritative voice.

  “There isn’t going to be a next time,” Jessica muttered rebelliously, “my heart couldn’t stand it.”

  Trevor looked mutinous. “I knew you were going to be like that, Jess. It could have happened to anybody. You always get so crazy, even when we fall off a bike.”

  “Watch your tone.” Dillon’s mouth settled in an ominous line. “I think Jessica and the rest of us are entitled to feel protective. You were completely buried, Trevor, we didn’t know if you were alive or dead or whether you were able to breathe or were broken into a million pieces.” His arms tightened around Jessica, holding her close, feeling the tremor go through her body. His chin nuzzled the top of her head in sympathy. “Have the decency to let us be shaken up. But don’t worry, we’ll get a Christmas tree.”

  Jessica wanted to protest. She didn’t want Trevor going anywhere outside, but Dillon was his father. There was no sense in dissenting, but she was not letting the twins go anywhere outside by themselves, father or no father.

  Dillon felt her instant reaction, her body stiffening, but she remained silent. He pressed a quick kiss against the tempting nape of her neck. “Good girl.” Her skin was so soft he wanted to rub his face against her. His palms itched to hold the soft weight of her breasts. His mind was becoming cloudy with erotic fantasies right there in the kitchen with everyone standing around.

  “Sorry, Jessie,” Trevor mumbled. “I saw that circle. The one with two rings, one inside of the other. The one you said was used to invoke spirits or something. It was drawn on a flat rock. It was really bright. I went off the trail to check it out.”

  There was a sudden silence in the room. Only the wind outside could be heard, a low mournful howl through the trees. A chill went down Jessica’s spine. She felt the difference in Dillon immediately. His body was nearly blanketing hers as they both leaned against the counter, so it was impossible to miss the sudden tension in him. His body actually trembled with some sudden overwhelming emotion.

  “Are you certain you saw a double circle, Trevor?” Dillon’s face was an expressionless mask, but his eyes were blazing.

  “Yes, sir,” Trevor answered, “it was very distinct. I didn’t get close enough to see what it was made out of before everything came down on me. It wasn’t drawn or painted onto the rock. The circles were made of something and set on the rock. That’s all I saw before I tripped on a log and everything crashed on top of me. I fit into the little opening against the hill so I wasn’t crushed. I covered my mouth and nose and as soon as everything settled, I breathed shallowly, hoping you’d hurry. I knew Tara would get you fast.”

  Dillon continued to look at his son. “Brian, have you brought that filth into my home? Did you dare to do that after all that happened?”

  No one moved. No one spoke. No one looked at the drummer. Brian sighed softly. “Dillon, I have my faith and I practice it, yes, wherever I am.”

  Dillon turned his head slowly to pin Brian with his steely glare. “You are practicing that garbage here? In my home?” He straightened up unhurriedly and there was something very dangerous, very lethal in his body posture as he rose to his full height.

  Dillon was vaguely aware of Jessica laying a restraining hand very gently on his arm, but he didn’t even glance down at her. The anger always simmering far too close to the surface rose in a vicious surge. The memories, dark and hideous, welled up to devour him. Screams. Chanting. The smell of incense mingled with the musty smell of sexual lust. Jessica’s terror-stricken face. Her nude body painted with disgusting symbols. A man’s hand violating her innocent curves while others crowded around her breathing heavily, obscenely. Watching. Stroking and pumping to bring their own bodies to a fever pitch of excitement while they urged their leader on.

  Bile rose, threatening to choke him. Dillon suppressed the urge to coil his hands around Brian’s throat and squeeze. Instead he held himself utterly still, curling his fingers into fists. “You dared to bring that abomination back to my home after all the damage that was done here?” His tone was soft, menacing, a spine-chilling threat.

  “Trevor and Tara go upstairs right now.” Jessica stood up straight, too, very afraid of what might happe
n. “Go, right now and don’t argue with me.”

  Jessica rarely used that particular tone of voice. The twins looked from their father to Brian and obediently left the room. Trevor glanced back once, worried about Jessica, but she wasn’t looking at him and he had no choice but to go with Tara.

  “I want you off this island, Brian, and don’t ever come back,” Dillon bit out each word distinctly.

  “I’ll go, Dillon,” Brian’s dark eyes betrayed his own rising anger, “but you’re going to listen to me first. I do not now, nor have I ever had anything to do with the occult. I don’t worship the devil. I never turned Viv on to that scene, someone else did. I did my best to talk to her, to influence her away from it.”

  Jessica rubbed her hand soothingly up and down Dillon’s stiff arm, feeling the ridges of his skin, the raised scars, reminders of that horror-filled night that were forever etched into his flesh.

  “Go on,” Dillon said, his voice rough.

  “My religion is old, yes, but it is the worshiping of things of the earth, spirits that live in harmony with the earth. I use the magic circles, but I don’t invoke evil. That would be against everything I believe. I did my best with Viv to make her understand the difference. She was so vulnerable to anything destructive.” Tears glittered in his eyes, his mouth trembled slightly. “You aren’t the only one who loved her, we all did. And we all lost her. I watched her go downhill just like you did. I did my best to stop her, I really did, the minute I found out she was involved with that Satanic crowd.”

  Dillon raked a hand through his hair. “They weren’t even the real thing,” he said softly, sighing heavily.

  “She went nuts when she hooked up with Phillip Trent,” Brian said. “She listened to everything he said as if it was gospel. I swear to you, Dillon, I tried to stop her, but I couldn’t counteract his influence.” He looked as if he were breaking apart, his face crumbling under the memories.

  Dillon felt his rage subsiding. He had known Brian nearly all of his life. He knew the truth when he heard it. “Trent dragged her down into a world of drugs and manic delusion so fast I don’t think any of us could have stopped her. I had him investigated. He had his own little religious practices, looking for money, drugs, and sex, kicks maybe, but not based on anything he didn’t make up.”