Books by Maggie Shayne (273 page)

It didn’t matter though. This one was fine. He’d sensed something, got that little shiver up the back of his neck earlier when he’d looked out on the town circle. That same prickly awareness he got when
she
was near. Not Witchcraft. Just intuition. Normal intuition. He hadn’t seen anyone outside, but it was dark. And he doubted a nightbird like Raven would be seen if she meant not to be.

Going to the window, he stared down at the circle again. And again, saw no one. So he paced, and he waited, and he battled the growing feeling that something was going to happen tonight. To distract himself from it, he tried to figure out how he could check his father for the birthmark, and wondered if his intention to do just that made him as crazy as Raven was. Probably. He couldn’t understand why he
wanted
to believe the woman so much when he
knew
that everything she said was just part of some grand delusion. And it wasn’t that he wanted her to be right about his father. Just that he wanted her to be sane. No, it wasn’t that, either. It was something else. Something deep inside him, so deep he couldn’t reach it. Couldn’t examine or explore it. But it was there. Knowledge. Truth. Buried, but present, and whispering every once in a while. Words that he couldn’t quite hear. Reality that he couldn’t quite grasp.

Closing his eyes, lowering his head, he wondered what his shrink would think about this latest crisis. That he’d fallen head over heels in love with this particular woman from the second he’d set eyes on her. And why, for heaven’s sake? What was it about her?

Her eyes. Dark, as black as midnight, and full of mystery and onyx fire.

Her hair. Tangled silk. As twisting and writhing as Medusa’s, but gleaming and glossy and soft. Tempting his fingers and his lips to touch it. Threatening to bind him up and never let him go.

Her skin, like moonlight. Warm, when he touched it. Responsive against his lips. Sweet and salty and as addictive as a drug.

Her laugh, though she laughed very little. And her voice, deep and rich, slightly coarse. Whiskey and roses, that was what her voice was like. If whiskey and roses could sing in harmony, they’d sound like Raven St. James. It seemed he’d known her voice before he’d ever heard her speak. It seemed he’d known exactly the way she would sound.

But there’s more. Her courage. The way she faced that crowd from the gallows, shamed them all, she did, an“ never once cried out as she plummeted to her death! Aye, an‘ the way she refused to confess to any thin’ when she’d done nothin’ wrong. An“ her strength. When the bastard Elias Stanton attacked her, tried to rape her, she laid him out cold. Damn near killed him. The way I wanted to do when I saw her later
—
her dress torn, her satin skin bruised, scrubbin‘ herself raw in the crystalline cold o” the stream.

I didna think I’d ever seen any thin“ so pain-filled as her eyes that day. An‘
…

Duncan went very still. Utterly still. “What the
hell
was all that? Where…” He looked around the room, as if he expected to see someone else there. But the someone else wasn’t in the room—the other man was inside him, inside his head, spewing memories that did
not
belong there!

None of those things had happened!

And yet they kept flashing. Bits and pieces. He was kissing her bruised skin as she cried, and trembled. He was whispering, “No one will every hurt you again, lass. I swear it on my life.” He was facing his father, only they both wore robes, and he was demanding to know where Raven’s body was being taken. And then he was there, searching a horrible place filled with the stench of death and decay, livid because he couldn’t find her there.

“Stop!” he moaned, pressing his hands to the sides of his head and turning in a slow circle. “Stop, dammit!”

Nay, Duncan, I willna stop. I canna. You must remember
.

The lights had gone out at last, and I had slipped inside by means of a small window in the back. Silently I crept up the stairs, my dagger in my hand, at the ready, lest Nathanial be aware of my intent, and be lying in wait around some dark corner.

The stairs creaked as I mounted them, and I went still. But only for a moment. Testing the next step with care, I moved to the top, and there I paused, looking up the hall and down. Unsure which way to go. And finally turning left, and tiptoeing down the hall.

Just outside the door at the end, I heard Duncan’s anguished, “Stop, dammit!”

My heart leaped into my throat, and I kicked the door open, springing inside and landing in a ready crouch, dagger high, eyes darting.

He stood by the window. His back to the pane, staring at me. His face seemed tormented, unsurprised, too caught up in whatever was eating at him to feel startled at my rather dramatic entrance. But I saw that he was alone in the room, and slowly sheathed my blade. “I… I heard your voice. I thought.

“Thought what? That my father was in here trying to murder me?”“

I didn’t nod. It seemed the wrong time to speak ill of his father. “Where is he?” I asked.

“You think I’m going to direct you to his room so you can attack him in his sleep?”“

I lowered my head. Turning, I glanced back down the hall to calm the rising goose bumps on the back of my neck. I saw no one, and then I closed the door. Moving forward slowly, I reached up, touched Duncan’s face.

“What’s wrong?”

His eyes moved over my face as if he couldn’t look at me enough to suit him. And then he closed them. “What
isn’t
wrong would be a better question.”

“Okay, what isn’t wrong?”

He met my eyes, smiling a sad, sarcastic smile. “Nothing.”

“That’s very good.”

“The woman I think I’m falling in love with has just broken into my father’s house, kicked in my bedroom door, and jumped in wielding a knife. And I ought to be calling the cops and having her hauled off to a rubber room somewhere. And instead I’m standing here wishing I could…” He let his voice trail off.

“You love me?” I whispered.

One hand rose to delicately cup my chin, and then he lowered his head, holding my eyes with his until mine fell closed, and his lips pressed to mine.

So tenderly he kissed me. As if he thought I might break. And when he straightened away, I stared at him in wonder. “Does this mean… does this mean you… believe me?”

He shook his head sadly, walked to the bed, sat on its edge. “I don’t believe anything. Not even my own feelings right now.”

“Oh.”

“Will you tell me something?”

I put my back to the window, half sitting on its sill, so I was facing Duncan, and the door beyond him. “I’ll tell you
anything,”
I promised.

He drew a deep breath, blew it out. “Was there ever a time when you were… attacked?”

I nodded. “Many have tried to kill me.”

“Now, that’s something I don’t understand,” he said quickly. “You keep saying how my father has tried to kill you, but then you claim to be immortal.”

“There is only one way to kill an immortal, Duncan. And that’s to cut the still-beating heart from his breast.”

“God,” he said, turning his head away in disgust. Then he closed his eyes, cleared his throat. “But I got off the subject. The attack I asked you about… this man wasn’t trying to kill you, he was trying…” He looked away, and it seemed he couldn’t finish.

Finally I understood. “To rape me?”

Duncan nodded. “Did it ever happen?”

“Once. It was Elias Stanton, the pig. Claimed I’d bewitched him into feeling desire for me, and so it was his right to act on it—teach me a lesson.”

Duncan closed his eyes. “When did it happen?”

“Sixteen ninety-two. I remember it well, Duncan. It was later that night I lost you.”

Lifting his head slowly, meeting my eyes, he said, “Tell me more.”

I searched his face. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

“I think… I have to hear it.”

I nodded, licked my lips. “I was walking home from town, when he approached me. I resisted, he pursued. I wound up with my back to a tree, while he groped at me. In the end, he was on the ground with a heavy limb atop him, and I was racing back to my aunt’s home in his wagon.” I closed my eyes. “I told Arianna, but not Aunt Eleanor. It would have killed her had she known. I couldn’t even face her. I felt… contaminated. So I went to the stream, stripped off my torn clothes, and plunged myself into that icy water, and I scrubbed and scrubbed. But it did no good. I could no more rid myself of the memory of his vile touch than I could wash away the bruises.” I shuddered at the memory. But then I opened my eyes and faced Duncan again. “Then you came. And it was all right.”

Duncan bit his lip. His jaw was taut, as if he were bearing a great weight and straining to support it. “Why would my father want to kill you?”

I blinked. He jumped from one subject to another so fast it made my head spin. “I told you that you died trying to save my life, and that was how you earned the gift of immortality.”

“Something I still think is impossible.”

“Yes, I know.” I sighed. “So pretend it’s fiction, a story I’m telling to entertain you.”

“That’s exactly what it is.” But he said it as if trying to convince himself. His gaze held mine for a long moment. But it was Duncan who finally looked away.

“There is another way one can gain immortality, and that’s the way the Dark Ones, the evil ones, go about it. They gain it, Duncan, by stealing it. When they take the heart of another immortal, and keep that still-beating heart captive in a small box far away from the ever-young body of their victim, they hold that victim’s power as well. The first kill gives them immortality. But they need more. The ones that come later increase their strength and powers, and replenish their life force when it weakens and dims. They use the hearts like… like a child’s toy uses batteries. Drain them all but dry, then toss them aside for another.”

“And you think my father is one of these… these
Dark Ones?”“

I nodded. “I’m a powerful Witch, Duncan. He wants that power for his own, and each time I’ve thwarted him he’s become more determined to have it.” I lowered my head. “But it’s not just the power. He hates me because he blames me for coming between you and him three hundred years ago. And here I am, doing it all over again.”

He shook his head. “It’s so far-fetched.”

“But you’re starting to wonder, aren’t you?”

He looked at me, saying nothing. “I called a lawyer this morning, after we talked. Asked him to find out any details he could about the car accident that killed my birth parents.”

I nodded, trying not to show him how deeply those words touched me, moved me. He was trying to believe me… or maybe trying to prove me wrong, but at least giving me the benefit of the doubt. “Thank you for that.”

He nodded, drew a breath, lifted his eyes to mine. “Don’t go after my father, Raven. Please, for my sake. Not yet. Give me some time to find out what… what the hell this is about. Time to understand.”

I lowered my head. Was he giving me the benefit of the doubt after all? Or just trying to distract me, to protect his father?

“Please. I don’t believe he’s this evil being you think he is. Raven, if you knew what he told me tonight, how he wants to make peace with you, you’d—”

The bedroom door flung open, and the old man stood there, dagger clenched in his fist, black satin robe held around his rail-thin, beanpole of a body with a sash. In a half crouch, just as I had been, he lunged into the room.

I flew forward to meet him, quickly putting myself between Nathanial and Duncan. And though we faced each other, blades at the ready light and nimble in our hands, the old man still tried to feign innocence.

“What is
she
doing here?” he asked. “Did she try to hurt you, Duncan?”

“You know I’d sooner die than hurt him,” I answered before Duncan could.

“If you insist,” he rasped, and he lunged at me, swinging the blade in a deadly arc.

“Stop!”

Duncan’s cry pierced my mind, but I didn’t straighten or take my eyes from his father. I knew better than to glance away, even for an instant, from a cold-blooded snake poised to strike.

“Dad, come on, this is insane. Raven, Christ, if you ever cared for me…“

Nathanial lunged again, but I dodged his blade with easy grace.

“Father, tell her about the pot. Give her the damn pot. You said you wanted to mend fences with her. Go on, go get the pot and—”

“That cauldron is worth nine hundred dollars,” he muttered.

“But you said—”

“He lied, Duncan,” I whispered. “He’s been lying to you all along.”

“Shut up and fight me, wench,” Nathanial snarled.

“No, Raven,” Duncan said softly. “If you love me, please, Raven, don’t. He’s an old man, please…”

“He’s an old man, all right. Centuries old, how many, even I don’t know.” I lunged, feinted, dodged. “You killed my mother, you son of a bitch, and now you’ve stolen Duncan from me. You
will
pay. But not tonight.”

Again, my blade flashed out, easily slicing the sash that held his robe together. I leaped past the man, dodging his returning slash, hooking the robe with my blade and tugging it back. Far enough. “There, Duncan!” I cried, knowing full well that crescent was in full view, if only for a moment. And then I landed in the hall. One hand on the rail, I vaulted over, landing on the floor of the foyer below, and then I spun around even as Nathanial’s footsteps pounded into the hall after me.

There. My mother’s cauldron sat on a shelf. Looking up, I saw Nathanial leaning over the rail, hatred blazing from his eyes. I gathered the cauldron in one arm. “Thanks for the token of friendship, Dearborne!” I cried. “Unfortunately, it was never yours to give.”

And as he raced for the stairs, I left the building by the front door and vanished into the shadows where I knew Arianna would be waiting.

It was there. The mark Raven had told him about was there, just as she’d said it would be. Dark, bloodred, on his father’s left hip.

But that didn’t mean…

Jesus, how long was he going to keep denying it? Everything she’d shown him, everything she’d said—the flashes and dreams that kept haunting him. This feeling that he knew her, that he loved her… there had to be some reason for all of it.

God, just not the reason she said
.

He raced into the hall, down the stairs, catching his father at the door, and gripping the man’s arms from behind. “Stop! I’m not going to let you go after her!”

The ease with which Nathanial broke Duncan’s grip was shocking. He was old. He had no business being so strong. But he didn’t run off in pursuit of Raven. Instead he turned, eyes as cold as ice.

“I suppose you’d rather I wait for her to sneak back in here. To kill me in my sleep. Is that what you want?”

“Of course not!” Duncan pushed both hands through his hair, sighing. “Look, she didn’t hurt you, didn’t even try. Because I asked her not to.” And he knew that much, at least, was true. “She’s not going to come back here tonight.”

Nathanial’s eyes narrowed. “She stole my blasted pot. I should call the police—”‘

“You were going to give it to her anyway.”

“Mmmph.” It was a growl, not an affirmation. “I changed my mind when I saw her in your room with her blade.”

“Yes.” Duncan moved past his father, closed the door, then turned to face the old man again. “It’s just like yours, her blade.”

Nathanial’s head came up slowly. “It’s similar.”

“And so is the mark on your hip.”

“Seen that much of her, have you?”

Duncan looked away. He wasn’t going to answer that. “She knows you, knew you before you came here. You lied to me when you denied that.”

Nathanial thrust his small blade into the sheath at his hip, turned away, muttering under his breath.

“God, you even wear that thing to bed?”

“I wear it everywhere,” his father replied without facing him.

“It’s time for you to tell me what this is all about. I want to know. And I mean
everything.”

His back still to Duncan, his father kept walking. “No, you don’t.” Then he paused. “And even if you do, it’s not your business, Duncan. This is between her and me, and will remain that way.”

“For how long? Until one of you is dead?“‘

A long sigh emerged from his father’s lips. A raspy one. But he said nothing. And a moment later he kept walking, up the stairs, to his room. He closed the door firmly.

Duncan sank to the floor, holding his head in his hands. He didn’t know what to think, what to do, who to believe. It was obvious there was a fierce enmity between Nathanial and Raven. They had a past, those two. A violent one. Raven was all too willing to tell him all about it… but the things she told him surpassed belief and even the most distant realms of possibility. His father, on the other hand, would tell him nothing. And Raven’s version of things was looking more and more like the truth.

He knew one thing. There would be no killing, no dagger wielding, no bloodletting tonight. Not tonight. He’d make sure of it.

He couldn’t sleep anyway, so he played the part of sentry. And long after dawn, while his father still slept, he called the lawyer he’d contacted the day before. He called the man at home—woke him up, judging by the thickness of Jack Cohen’s voice.

“What did you find out?” Duncan asked without preamble.

It took a moment for Jack to identify him, another for him to figure out what it was Duncan wanted. They were acquaintances, not friends. Jack had done some work for Duncan’s restoration business, helped out with contracts periodically over the last several years, and Duncan had his home number. For emergencies only, Jack had told him when he’d scrawled it on the back of a business card.

Hell, if this wasn’t an emergency, Duncan didn’t know what was.

“I have office hours, you know,” Jack finally said.

“This is too important to wait. What did you find out about the accident that killed my birth parents?”

Jack sighed, hesitated. “It… was easier than I expected to check into it. You had their names and everything, so—”

“What did you find out?” Duncan asked again.

Jack cleared his throat. “This isn’t the kind of thing I like to tell someone over the phone,” he said. “But, uh… there
was
no car accident. Your parents were murdered, Duncan.”

His throat closed off. He closed his eyes, drew a breath. “How?”

“A mugging. Wallet stolen. The cops figured they must have resisted, tried to fight back.”

Opening his eyes, Duncan whispered, “Shot?”
Please, please, please say yes
.

“No. No, it was, uh… it was a knife.”

A knife. Or maybe an antique dagger with a jeweled handle.

“Did they get the guy?”

Another sigh. “The case is still unsolved. I’m sorry, Duncan, I wish the news had been better.”

“So do I,” Duncan said. “So do I.” He put the phone down and turned to see his father coming down the stairs.

Nathanial paused, frowning. “You’re up early!”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Duncan reached for his coat, hanging on an antique tree near the door.

“You’re leaving? But what about breakfast? We really do need to talk, Duncan.”

“We can talk later.” Duncan pulled the coat on, then eyed the old man. “When you’re ready to tell me the truth. Right now there’s… something I have to do.”

Lowering his brows, Nathanial said, “You’re going to see
her
, aren’t you?”

“Yes. So don’t bother charging out there to confront her, because I’ll be there to prevent it.”

He disliked the harsh, condemning tone of his own voice, and the way his father flinched and paled slightly at every word. Even though things looked bad, he had to remember his father might not be guilty of a damn thing. All of this could be…

His chin fell. Could be what? Coincidence? Some elaborate con? Bullshit. It was none of those things and he knew it.

Still, his tone gentled, almost as if there was still some part of him, some fatherless child inside, who
wanted
to believe the old man innocent. “I’ll be back later on.”

“She’s crazy, you know. She’ll try to turn you against me, Duncan. Don’t let her.”

“Look, all I want to do is fix this, make it all right, get at the truth. And I
will.”

His father shook his head slowly. “I only wish you could. Make it all right, I mean. But you can’t, Duncan. You’re dealing with things you don’t understand. The way things are… is the way they’ve always been. It can’t be changed.“

“Anything can be changed.”

His father lowered his head tiredly. “I wish that were true. I’m… I’m
tired.
You’ve no idea how tired.”

Narrowing his eyes, searching his father’s face, Duncan took a step closer. “Tired of what?”

When Nathanial looked up again, his skin seemed pale, and dark circles seemed to have appeared beneath his eyes overnight. “Death. Life. All of it. I’m an old man, Duncan, and I ought to know it. I ought to just let go, but I can’t. I can’t. Maybe she’ll be the one to end it. Maybe it’s time someone did.”

“Father, what the hell are you talking about?”

Nathanial shook his head. “Nothing. I sound as crazy as she does, now, don’t I?” He smiled softly. “Go on, go to her. Do what you have to do, Duncan. We never know how much time we have left. We ought to spend it doing what we want.”

“You’ll be all right?”

“Fine. I promise. Go on, go.”

Sighing, suddenly uncertain his father should be left alone just now—but even more certain than before that he had to see Raven, he finally nodded, and left. He walked the two miles to Raven’s house. A pleasant walk, or it would have been if there hadn’t been so many unanswered questions swamping his brain. He walked along the Coast Road with the sea crashing to the shore below, giving him slight goose bumps and making him walk as far to the left of the road as possible. Raven’s story about him having been tossed from these very cliffs kept creeping into his mind, but he pushed it away. Still, it was sunny. The air held a brisk chill that invigorated, but no real wind. And the sound of the waves was pleasing, even if looking down on them did make him dizzy.

He paused once, near those very cliffs she’d pointed out to him—the place where she claimed he had died. Swallowing a lump of foreboding, he stepped closer to the edge, stared down at the froth and rocks below, expecting the slight dizziness that still hit him from time to time when he looked down from on high.

It didn’t come. Instead, there was a flash. Darkness, moonlight. Dancing red-orange torches and men all around him. Holding him. Holding…
her.

“
‘Disavow her, Duncan. Save yourself.”“

“
Never!“‘

“
Do as he asks, Duncan. Please, trust me! Do as he asks
.”

Tears glittering on her cheeks in the moonlight
.

A soft rending of his heart as he looked into those dark eyes. “Not on pain of death, lass. Nay, not if it meant my own soul would I speak against you.“‘

They carried her to the edge. Duncan broke free of those who held him, ran forward, reached for her.

“They cannot take my life!” she cried. “Save yourself, Duncan, I beg you!”“

They pitched her over the side, and he lunged for her, and then fell with her into the abyss.

Duncan pressed a hand to his head and staggered backward, away from the edge. God, what
was
that? A memory? A hallucination? Real or imaginary?

The image, the dream, was gone. But the feelings… the emotions… remained. Pressing out from somewhere inside his chest. Expanding, making it hard to breathe.

“God, what is happening to me?”

When he arrived at Raven’s driveway, he heard voices, and the rhythmic chink of metal clashing against metal. Was his father here before him, then? Were Nathanial and Raven fighting to the death, even now? A beat of panic pulsed in his throat, and he rushed forward, following the noise around to the rear of the house, and stopped in his tracks when he saw Raven and her blond friend wielding their deadly little daggers as if they meant to kill each other.

He lunged forward, then stopped. They were… laughing. Swinging those double-edged blades and ducking, rolling and springing to their feet again, and
laughing.

My God, they
were
insane.

But graceful. So skilled in their movements that it started to resemble a dance the way they circled and lunged and dodged. Then Arianna let loose with a spinning kick that looked like some kind of martial arts move, and Raven’s dagger sailed from her hand to land point down, in the dirt, its jeweled hilt quivering.

Arianna leaped forward, her blade to Raven’s throat. “I have you now!” she shouted, a beautiful smile on her face.

“No, don’t!”

The shout was wrenched out of him, a knee-jerk reaction he hadn’t planned. The two women stilled, turning toward him. Raven looked surprised, but not the least bit afraid. Arianna, on the other hand, straightened, sheathed her blade, and rolled her eyes.

“Isn’t
this
familiar?” she said, her tone sarcastic.

And it was. He had a dizzying sense of deja vu all of a sudden. It was as if he’d done this all before. He had to close his eyes to regain his balance.

But then Raven was coming to him, stroking his hair with those loving fingers. “Are you all right?”

“More to the point,” Arianna said, “are you
alone
?”

He drew a steadying breath. “Nathanial is back at the courthouse. I wouldna…
wouldn’t…
bring him here.” Then he gazed at Raven to see if she’d noticed his slip— God, for an instant it felt as if that stranger inside had leaped to the surface and taken over.

Raven’s hair was tousled, and his fingers ached to smooth it. Her cheeks gleamed pink with exertion and her eyes sparkled.

“It’s all right,” she said. “We were only practicing. We do it all the time.” She didn’t mention his slip, but she’d noticed. He knew she had.

“I don’t even want to ask why,” he said.

“To stay sharp… you’ll pardon the pun.” Arianna smiled at her own joke. “So when people like Nathanial come for us—and they do, Duncan—we’re ready.”

“So you believe this nonsense, too? About immortal High Witches and beating hearts in little boxes… ?“ He shook his head, not wanting to think about it anymore.

“I see Raven
did
get around to telling you a few things,” Arianna said. “Well, Duncan, old friend, you might as well come inside. If you won’t believe your lover, then perhaps you’ll believe me. I’m far older than she is anyway. Just over five hundred, actually.”

“You’ll have to give me the name of your plastic surgeon.”

She lifted her golden brows. “You can still joke about it.

I think that’s a good sign. Do you drink coffee, Duncan, or is it still strong English tea you prefer?“

Strong English tea was exactly what he preferred. But how did
she
know that? “To be honest, I think I could use a beer about now,” he told her.

“Used to go straight to your head,” she replied with a smile. “I think you need all your wits right now. So tea it is.” She turned and led the way inside.

Raven gripped his hand and followed. “I was so afraid to leave you with Nathanial last night. Was there any trouble after I left?”

“He’s my father, Raven.”

“As if
that
means anything.”

They walked into a pretty room, with a fireplace flickering from one wall, and claw-footed furniture of deep cherry wood all around.

“You two sit. Talk. I’ll get that tea.” Arianna left them there.

Raven took a spot on the love seat, and Duncan sat beside her. He took her hands in his, stared into her eyes. “I want you to end this feud with my father,” he said. “It doesn’t matter whether all of this other stuff is true or not. Nothing matters right now except that it has to end.”

She closed her eyes. “Do you think I
want
to fight him? Duncan, believe me, I don’t. I’d end this if I could.“