by Angel Smits
“Come to bed,” she whispered and rose. He took her outstretched hand and pulled her close.
His lips found hers, their coolness quickly warming.
They were halfway to the bedroom when she remembered the spell book. She pushed him to the bed, kissing him playfully and admonished, “Hold that thought.”
She stepped back outside, surprised when an icy wind threw her hair across her face. She shoved the curls away just as she reached the table.
The book lay open. She thought she’d closed it. The ancient pages ruffled in the breeze. The wind stopped abruptly, and the pages settled back into place.
The clouds that had crept in shifted from the moon’s face, illuminating the pages.
Handwriting she recognized as her grandmother’s glared up at her. She’d seen and heard the words before, but now they seemed to scream themselves inside her head.
Trust your instincts.
Sixteen
THE DOOR OPENED slowly. Too slowly. David looked up. Clarissa entered the room, the spell book clasped tightly in her arms. He’d thought the moonlight had washed her skin pale, but inside the house, the pallor seemed more pronounced.
His stomach sank. “What happened?”
“Nothing . . . happened . . . exactly.”
She looked into his eyes, her gaze pleading with him for something he couldn’t define. He stepped toward her and then halted just inches away. “Tell me.” David reached out, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
“There’s a reason I found those pictures. We need to check them out.”
He forced a smile to his lips. “Not having second thoughts about us?”
She tried to smile. “No,” she reassured him. “I want to be with you. I do, but I’m afraid if we don’t figure all this out, we’ll never really be together.”
She looked away from him, and he tried to read her but couldn’t. This was as close as they’d come to talking about something lasting between them.
When several minutes passed, and she still didn’t look at him, he slipped one finger beneath her chin until their gazes met.
He leaned closer, her lips soft and sweet against his. She pressed against him, returning his kiss with an urgency that bothered him.
After a long, silent moment, she stepped away. “The book was open on the table to a page my grandmother wrote.”
“What did it say?”
“To trust my instincts.”
“And what do those instincts say to do?”
“Find that music box. Maybe there’s a clue in that box of pictures downstairs.
“Maybe.” He stared into her face, looking for any inkling of what she felt, of what she was thinking. All he saw was a sadness he hated.
For a minute he considered telling her more about his visit to the mansion and Rachel. He just as quickly discarded the idea. If what he suspected had to be done—him returning to the mansion—he wasn’t going to tell her the risks. And she sure as hell wasn’t going with him. Rachel’s warning had been clear.
“Let’s go.” He smiled, but it was more a reassurance than any true emotion.
At the door in the kitchen he stopped. “You stay up here. We can’t both get locked down there if the door closes.”
She resisted his command, but after a minute gave in. His argument made sense. Who knew what he would face down there? He wasn’t afraid of the usual monsters in a scary basement. He was more afraid of the monsters lurking in his own memories.
Slowly, one step at a time, David descended into the shadowed, musty basement. The flashlight beam cut a swath through the dark to cast its golden puddle across the pile of photographs. He knew those photos, but he wasn’t sure how they’d gotten to this house. Rachel must have brought them here.
The sound of his footsteps seemed loud and fateful as he continued down. Finally he reached the bottom. With his toe, he shoved a pile of pictures aside, seeing more images of his past. Memories captured inside neat little white-bordered pieces of paper.
The edges of many of the photos were curled and yellowed with time. A layer of fine gray dust scattered over the faces that stared up at him.
He looked down at them. His mother’s face. His father’s grin.
The first stab of pain surprised him as he saw an image of himself at age five. He bent and picked it up. He knew how old he was because that’s when his parents had died. And that picture had been taken only a short time before.
The mental images came back to tear at his heart, and he dropped the photo. It fluttered back to the pile, leaving a trail of dust motes to dance in the flashlight beam. Then another picture caught his attention. He hunkered down and hesitantly reached out and pulled it from the pile.
The glossy finish winked in the light. He tilted it, staring for a long time at the pretty face he’d once loved.
Rachel. How long ago that seemed. Another lifetime.
He closed his eyes and fought the bitterness that threatened his clear thinking. Angry with her and himself, he pitched the photo back into the pile.
The other pictures he knew were there flashed through his mind. His parents. The house. Their trips. Germany. Paris.
His mother had written a line from one of her favorite poems on one of them. “I will die in Paris on a rainy day.” She’d been fanciful and thinking of a day far away.
But die she had, though not in Paris. The rain had poured out of the sky as the bullets poured from his father’s gun. Anger and disgust tore through him. Emotional pain ripped through his body, nearly doubling him over. The anguish he’d fought for so long was too strong.
Emotions threatened to engulf him, but he fought them, knowing that here he was safe from the effects of the curse.
This time he couldn’t escape into another being. No angry lions. No freedom seeking stallions. No curious cats.
Just him. A man who had avoided his own torment for far too long.
His heart pounded. Sweat drenched his body. Relishing the coolness of the dirt floor beneath his bare feet, he swung the beam around the barren room. Clarissa had been right. The music box wasn’t down here.
“David?”
He turned to look up the stairs. The kitchen light outlined Clarissa’s form through the thin material of his T-shirt. He stood and climbed the stairs.
“There’s nothing there. Just the photos.” And old pain.
“I’d hoped . . . ”
“No. Nothing.” He guided her out of the doorway and closed the door. He hoped he never saw those pictures again. “Let’s get some sleep.”
She didn’t move, just stood there staring up at him. “Are you sure? I can’t believe I found them for nothing.”
“I’m positive there are no clues there.” He clenched his teeth to keep from losing his temper.
“Are you okay?” she whispered.
What could he tell her? “I don’t know. I’m too tired to think.” And he was. His eyelids were heavy and he wanted to sleep for about a week.
She fit so easily in his arms. He pulled her into them and leaned back against the closed door. Burying his face in her hair, he let himself breathe and savor her presence.
His sorrow faded in her passion. The night soon disappeared as they moved to the brass bed and forgot where they were and why they were here.
SATED AND NEAR exhaustion, David cradled her in his arms. Clarissa’s heart pounded gently against her ribs, and David felt the beat of it through his own skin. Earlier she’d spoken of love. Tilting his head to see her better, he realized she was sound asleep. Did she even remember saying the words?
At the thought, his heart soared into the heavens and hung there for a long moment before crashing back to earth. The blazing trail it left seared through to his soul.
She couldn’t love him
. He wouldn’t allow it. She wasn’t safe.
As if disturbed by his thoughts, Clarissa grimaced in her sleep and shifted position. Carefully, so as not to wake her, David settled her against the pillows and moved away. Her hand slid across the sheets as if seeking him, and then stopped when she slipped deeper into sleep.
She looked so beautiful lying there. The dawn crept into the room and fell across the bed. Its faint light caressed her every curve. His eyes were drawn to where the shadow fell between her breasts. The sheet slipped down, bunching just below her waist, just high enough to tease him with a glimpse of darkness at the juncture of her thighs.
His body responded and he’d have woke her again except his heart threw out a warning. Fear.
Memories of the pictures returned to haunt him. His love wasn’t a gift he could safely give her. He’d given it to his parents. He’d given it to Rachel. They’d been violently ripped from his life. He couldn’t bear the thought of it happening with Clarissa. He knew the two of them might never survive the reality.
He picked up his clothes and pulled them on. In the dim light he fumbled around to find his shoes and belt. Then, fully dressed, he stood beside the bed where she lay so beautifully and peacefully and paused.
“I do want you,” he spoke to the room and himself, half hoping that somehow it reached her subconscious. “But I can’t risk you. Forgive me.”
Turning on his heel, he grabbed his jacket and opened the front door. He’d left her sleeping before, but this would be the last time.
SUNLIGHT WOKE Clarissa. She relished its warmth and snuggled into the pillows, pulling the sheet up over her shoulders and thoroughly enjoying that time just before she fully awoke.
David’s scent clung to the pillows and her body reacted to it. She wanted him again, now, and she reached out to tell him so. All she found was an empty pillow and sun-warmed sheets.
Her eyes flew open in panic, and she gazed about the room. From the brightness of the sunlight she realized it must be late morning. “David?” There was no answer.
Pulling the sheet off the bed, she wrapped it around her. Carefully, so she didn’t trip on the long fabric, she walked to the window, hoping to find him on the veranda. There was no sign of him.
He wasn’t on the front porch, but her car sat at the curb. When had that gotten here—and how? A stray ray of sunlight caught her eye, and on the nightstand she saw her keys. The light reflected off the familiar good luck charm attached to the ring.
Fear tore through her, and she hastily grabbed her clothes. Where was her cell phone? She fumbled in her purse until she found it. The battery was dead. “Damn.”
She’d just finished combing her hair when a knock at the door startled her. Who could that be? David wouldn’t knock. Still, anticipation made her heart skip.
She hurried to the front room, smoothing her shirt just before she pulled the door open. It took her a second to register that it wasn’t David standing on the porch but an old woman.
Clarissa stared at her, somewhat surprised by her old-fashioned appearance. Her shoulders were bent, and as a result, she was nearly half a foot shorter than Clarissa. A gray hat perched atop her white hair, and a black egret feather wafted in the faint breeze she made as she walked. She wore a wool coat despite the day’s warmth, and black lace-up shoes with block heels.
Clarissa cleared her throat. “Hello.” She couldn’t see the woman’s eyes beyond the wide hat, but the deep lines in her face told of much time gone by. Her thin, pale lips pursed in a straight line that clearly found Clarissa lacking.
“Good morning, dear.” The woman stepped closer, bringing the damp scent of roses with her. “I’ve brought the things Mr. Lorde asked for.”
“David? What things?” Relieved that he was probably fine took the edge off her mood. He’d taken time to order these.
“You’ll see.” The old woman stepped over the threshold, a basket dangling from her arm and a secretive smile on her lips.
“Please, come in,” Clarissa mumbled after closing the door.
“I won’t be long. Just a moment.” The woman turned back to face Clarissa. She reached into the basket and pulled out a cellophane-wrapped bundle of bright red blooms. “Here, dear.”
Reaching out, Clarissa stroked the soft delicate petals that called to mind the sweet, gentle memories of the night she’d spent with him. Her heart swelled, and she pulled out a single rose to hold closer and smell its sweetness.
That’s when she noticed that they weren’t store-bought roses. The stems weren’t thick and thornless. They were thin narrow stems, like those grown in a garden.
The tiny prick of a thorn on her finger made her gasp and then laugh at herself for being so careless. She sucked her sore finger, and the tiny wound immediately stopped bleeding.
Suddenly everything changed. The bright sunshine no longer shone in the windows. Looking outside, she noticed dark gray clouds scudding across the sky. Something felt wrong—very wrong. She turned to look for the old woman, who seemed very far away.
The rose fell from her hand, and Clarissa knew that somehow by touching the rose, she’d brought the curse here. This house that had been a haven for him. The place that had been their refuge in the war of the minds was now tainted. She was no longer safe from the illusion and dreams.
And just to prove it, her mind filled with images of David. Of the sweet love they’d shared, and of his angrily storming out of the house. Her heart ached with the pain on his face. Why had he been so angry?
You said you loved him. The voice echoed in her head and Clarissa cringed. Hadn’t he wanted love? Hadn’t he wanted her love? It hurt to see the truth as he roared away from the sidewalk, a cloud of dust rising up from the bumper of the black sports car.
When her vision cleared, Clarissa sank to her knees beside the bed. Tears flowed across her cheeks. Her heart broke and she had no idea how she was going to fix it. Maybe there was no way to fix it.
The old woman moved, as if in slow motion. Clarissa watched her build a fire in the fireplace, but couldn’t move or speak to stop her. The heat and the strong floral scents seemed to swirl around her. The woman seemed oblivious to it as she stood staring, unspeaking and smiling at her.
The darkness stole up on her, then hit with a vengeance. The room vanished and Clarissa found herself standing in a dark cavern.
The walls threw off cold, and a musty-damp smell crept over her, choking her. Tears burned her eyes from all the overwhelming scents and the painful realization that she and David were no longer safe here.
The visions were all too real and terrifying.
“WHERE IS SHE?” Rachel’s voice screamed in David’s head though he couldn’t see her.
“Who?” He had no intention of telling Rachel where Clarissa was. If she couldn’t figure it out, that was her problem.
He continued his search. The large chest his mother had used to store scarves and gloves was empty. He pulled pictures off the wall, looking behind them for any hiding places.
“The old woman.”
That stopped him. “Who?” Now he was totally confused. “I don’t know any old woman.” Except the one who had gone through the bank, taking money out of Rachel’s account. He stopped his search. Something wasn’t right here.
“You’re lying,” she whined.
“I am not lying. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Besides, why do you care? You’ve ruined my life. Wasn’t that your goal?” David paced the black and white tiled foyer, fighting his frustration. He knew that if he shifted here in the mansion, he’d be lost.
He had to find the music box first. He forced himself to walk into the living room. He hated this room, and it took most of his concentration to control the pending shift.
“I’ve always cared,” she whined as her voice followed him.
&nb
sp; Not believing her, he stopped searching and looked for her. Was that odd-shaped shadow her? As he watched, the vision he’d seen before grew in clarity.
Had he actually once loved her? He couldn’t remember how that had felt. He couldn’t even remember what she’d been like when she was alive.
“That’s why I want you with me forever.” She seemed to move closer. “I made sure of it.”
“Sure of what?” He stepped toward the apparition and was surprised when she moved back. She was a ghost. He couldn’t hurt her—could he? He took another step, and she drifted out the door and into the foyer.
He followed. “Tell me what you did, Rachel.”
She shook her head and moved up the stairs. “I didn’t do anything.”
He took another step. “You did, too. I know. I want the music box. Now.” He saw fire blaze in her eyes and nearly turned away. But he had nothing left to lose anymore.
“No. It’s mine. You’re mine.” Defiance filled her words. She drifted up the curved staircase.
He threw up his hands, wanting to reach out and grab her and what? Shake her into telling him what she’d done? Shake what? She was a damned ghost. He dragged his fingers through his hair in frustration and followed her. “You’re hiding it. I need to know where it is.”
“You do know her. The old woman told you, didn’t she?” Rachel drifted higher. He continued to trail her. They were nearly to the top of the stairs where Clarissa had fainted only a few nights before. It seemed like ages ago.
What had she said about a woman pushing her?
“Tell me what you did and why you need some old woman.” His voice thundered, and he actually saw her eyes widen in surprise.
He took another step. She rushed toward him. There wasn’t an impact, but the startling cold of her “form” rushing through him caused him to stumble. He caught himself on the rail. He’d nearly regained his balance when his fingers slipped off the polished banister.
He fell. The edge of each step tore into his ribs, his hip, the bones of his spine and finally the back of his head where it made a sickening crack.
