Daughter of the Spellcaster (4 page)

“I don’t understand you,” Paul said softly. “I mean, yes, of course I agree to all of that, and thank you. Thank you a million times over.” He cleared his throat, looked down into the glass he held in one hand and had yet to sip from. “But why do you want to be so secretive about it? I mean, come on, Ryan. Wouldn’t it help your image to be known for funding a project to put solar energy within the reach of every American household?”

Ryan smiled. “
Help
it? It would
destroy
it.”

Paul blinked. “But—your image is that you’re a spoiled, self-centered, overly indulged, lazy playboy.”

“Exactly. And now, if you don’t mind, I’m about to go play that role to the hilt. See you tomorrow.”

Frowning and shaking his head in bewilderment, Paul muttered good-night, then turned and headed for the hallway and the curving red-carpeted staircase beyond.

Ryan watched him until he was out of sight, just to be sure he didn’t get waylaid by anyone demanding to know who he was and what he did. If his father found out, he would want in. Because though he’d ostensibly walked away from everything, he still had that profit-seeking missile inside him, and he could smell money to be made even from a mountainside in Tibet. He would just order his “people” to handle it—buy Paul out, make him an offer even he couldn’t refuse, and then Paul would see his beautiful, world-saving, idealistic notions slowly taken over by profit-seeking bottom-liners who would turn them into something ugly but lucrative.

Besides, Ryan needed to be part of a few projects where he could be his own man, completely free of his father’s shadow.

Once Paul was in the clear, Ryan made his way through the throng, pausing to return the greetings of all those in attendance, most of whom disapproved of him and made no secret about it, not that he cared, to his father, who stood out even in this crowd of stand-out individuals.

Ryan had inherited his height from Ernst, who was broad-shouldered and narrow in the hip. In a tux, the man could stop traffic and impose palpitations on female hearts of any age, race or, Ryan suspected, sexual orientation.

But he didn’t care. As far as he knew, Ernst hadn’t been with a woman since his wife, Sarah. Since her death twenty-two years ago, when Ryan had been eleven, Ernst had never been seen, photographed or even rumored to be dallying with any other woman. He must either have gone celibate or been impeccably discreet. Ryan didn’t see him enough to know which, because, as far as he was concerned, Ernst had also lost his mind at that time. His love for Ryan’s mother had been—
all-consuming. Too strong. In the end it had destroyed him.

You wouldn’t know it to look at him. He was still a billionaire, still one of the most striking, fascinating men in the world, but a part of him had died that day. The good part.

Beside Ernst, as always, was Bahru, his “spiritual advisor.” He always wore red-and-white robes, was bone-thin, and both his hair and his endless beard of thick, dark dreadlocks had puffs of white showing through here and there. His age was impossible to determine, but for the first time Ryan thought he was showing signs of aging.

Ryan nodded at Bahru, who gave him a pressed-palm “namaste” bow in return. Then he extended a hand toward his father. “Congratulations, Dad.”

“Thank you, Ryan.” His father took his hand in a firm shake and lifted his free arm as if to embrace him, but then sort of eased off and settled for a shoulder pat right at the end.

Awkward. But that was just how things were between them. His father had abandoned him, motherless and eleven, to go off with his guru. He’d put a gulf between them, and it had only widened since.

Then Ryan turned his attention to the actual reason he’d crossed the room to begin with. The gorgeous female. He didn’t look her in the eye but let his gaze stay lowered while he clasped her hand and brought it to his lips. “Ryan McNally,” he said, before he kissed the back of that hand.

Then he straightened and met her eyes.

She stared at him, her big green eyes getting even bigger. She looked at him almost as if she recognized him, but he was damn sure he’d never seen her before.
That
he would have remembered. “It’s
you,
” she whispered, and then she jerked her head to the left, as if someone standing next to her had said something.

But no one was standing there.

She tugged her suddenly cold, suddenly trembling hand free of his and said, “Um, I— Lena. Magdalena Dunkirk. I have to go.”

Turning, she hurried away, then stopped and looked over her shoulder. “I’m so sorry. It was lovely to meet you.”

Then she was gone, hurrying through the ballroom in heels that should have made speed impossible, while Ryan kept his eyes on her ass the entire way. The dress hugged it tight enough to show what a really nice ass it was.

“Was it something I said?” he asked, turning back to his father only after she was out the door.

“Maybe your reputation preceded you,” Ernst said. “But that’s just as well. She’s a nice girl. I wouldn’t want you breaking her heart.”

“I don’t really want anything to do with her
heart,
” Ryan said.

* * *

I should have known right then that she was trouble,
he thought.
Should have steered clear of her at all costs
.

But how could he have known that
she
would be the one to break
his
heart? For the first and only time in his life.

She had run away after a nearly-two-month-long relationship that had been sheer fire because he hadn’t become serious about her fast enough for her liking. At least that was the explanation he’d constructed in his mind as he’d tried to figure out what had happened. He’d always gone out of his way to be very clear with every woman, right from the start, that he was not the getting serious type. He’d tried even harder to play the playboy for Lena’s benefit. The more she got under his skin, the harder he played the role. Apparently she’d realized she was making no progress and walked.

The ironic part was, she was the one woman he’d ever been with who might have had a shot at making him want to get serious. If she’d waited around, maybe...

But in the end, he knew it was for the best. He never wanted to find himself mired in grief the way his father was. To love someone so much that he fell apart when she left. Hell, he’d had a taste of it, the sleepless nights, the recriminations, the missing her, the getting sappy every time any TV show or radio song or meal reminded him of her. If it had been that bad after two months, he’d definitely been heading for trouble. Doing exactly what he’d sworn he would never do.

It was good that she’d left. Now he was back on track again, cool and free, and not caring. Playing the playboy. It was easier to maintain that image without her.

The crowd of people filling the pews of St. Pat’s were muttering, which was his signal to stop reliving the past and start paying attention again to his father’s funeral service. It didn’t matter anyway. She’d dumped him and run away. It was over. She had come here to pay her respects to his dad. It was the decent thing to do, and she’d always been decent.

The priest had finished, and the pallbearers were moving up to take their places beside the coffin. Bahru and Ryan were the lead pair, so he had to get in gear. Reaching the front, where the casket rested on a stand, he took hold of the brass handle. It was cold to the touch, and the coffin wasn’t as heavy as he would have expected it to be. Then again, there were six of them. The other four were all on his father’s board of directors.

Fine showing at the end of a life. An estranged son, a Hindi con man and a handful of business partners as pallbearers. That said a lot. Said it all, really.

He didn’t want to go out that way, he thought. Friendless and alone.

And then he wondered, as that thought flitted into his mind and he carried his father’s casket down the aisle toward the big doors, if he died right now, today, who would be carrying
him
to his waiting hearse? Paul, he guessed. And a handful of other men he’d helped in their businesses and who he supposed were friends. Sort of.

He really didn’t
have
any friends other than Paul.

Maybe he wasn’t as different from his old man as he liked to think he was.

As he passed by the pew in the back where Lena had been sitting, he looked for her, but she was gone, and a sigh of disappointment rushed out of him. Involuntary but unavoidable. Maybe she would be at the graveside service.

He hoped so.

2

L
ena ran into Bill Bennet, her former boss, outside the cathedral under bright sunny skies. Manhattan winters were so different from winters anywhere else in New York State. No snow on the ground here, though sometimes there was, and it rarely lasted long. The temps ran ten degrees higher than they did outside the city, because heat radiated from the pavement and was held in by the buildings and the smog, and Lena had always thought still more was generated by all the bodies, all the machines, all the frenetic human energy. Today it was warm even for January in New York City, maybe forty degrees on the sidewalk outside the cathedral.

Bill was standing in one of those little huddles of humanity that always form outside funerals. People leaning close, all dressed in dark colors, speaking in low tones about what a shame it was and how the family was doing, and who else had died in recent memory. There was never a positive conversation at a funeral. It was all about death and dying and mourning and loss, insurance and health and diseases and accidents. It put her head right into the frame of mind to attract something she did not want.

Lena hated funerals.

But not as much as she hated seeing the stunned looks on people’s faces when they got their first glimpse of her midsection, which looked roughly like an over-inflated beach ball, minus the stripes.

Bill saw her face, started to smile underneath his gray-with-a-lingering-ginger mustache but then froze when his gaze found her belly. It was comical, in a way, or would have been if the belly had been attached to anyone besides her. His blue eyes went wide, and he walked right up to her, hugged her and said, “So
that’s
why you left.”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Are you—I mean, is the father—”

“I’m doing this alone. That’s the way I want it, Bill.” She patted his back twice, the international signal for “this hug is about to cross the boundary from friendly to awkward,” and he let go and backed a step away.

“You look wonderful,” she said before he could continue on the topic of her pregnancy. “Better than before the heart attack, honestly. You’ve lost weight.”

“Thirty pounds.” There was pride in his voice. And then he was going on about his new diet, and having given up alcohol, cigarettes and mayonnaise.

She listened, because she was not only polite but truly interested in how her former boss was doing. But she still glanced back toward the ornate doors of St. Pat’s whenever she could manage it without being rude, and on the third such peek she spotted Ryan. He hadn’t seen her yet, and she scooted around to Bill’s other side so he wouldn’t. She just wasn’t ready to see his reaction to her baby bump. Not yet. Not there.

She guessed there would be no hiding it at the graveside, but she felt she had to go. And really, she couldn’t keep it from him forever. Had never intended to. Just...well, the more time she had let slide past, the easier it had become not to call. And now there she was, and there he was, and it was time. Past time.

“Do you mind if I ride with you to the cemetery?” she asked Bill, cutting him off in mid-cholesterol count.

“Well, of course not. We’re parked back here.” He put a hand at the small of her back and steered her further away from the cathedral, thank goodness, and around a corner. It was going to be a long ride to the cemetery, she thought, as he began listing off the others from the firm, and the spouses of same, who were riding in the stretch limo they’d hired for the occasion. The thing was huge, and there was definitely room for one more.

She eased herself into the vehicle, and spent the next forty-five minutes catching up with former co-workers and trying to describe her new life in a way that didn’t sound painfully boring to them. And it
was
boring, really. Utterly tranquil, filled with peaceful bliss. Lonely, of course, but she had her mom. And aside from that loneliness and the odd presence they referred to as their house ghost and who was, they’d decided, harmless, their lives were perfect. Besides, Lena figured the loneliness would be gone the minute the baby arrived, so...

Yes, she thought, it was a long ride to the cemetery.

But not long enough.

She stood behind a crowd of people, wearing a cape-style coat, and holding her purse, brown knit beret-style hat, matching scarf and leather gloves in front of her belly.

It was roughly like a bear trying to hide behind a dandelion, but trying was automatic. Ryan was up front, near the graveside, which was clearly a hole in the ground even though it was decorated in an effort to keep it from looking like one. The shiny brass frame that held the casket was draped in fabric. But nothing could hide the fact that it covered a rectangular pit in the dirt.

As the priest spoke, Lena caught Ryan looking for her, his probing eyes scanning the crowd as she tried to shrink into herself. Eventually he spotted her, as she had known he would. Their eyes met, and just like that her heart flipped in her chest. Was he
really
more beautiful than he’d been before? Was she really that hungry just for the sight of him? Emotions started hurling themselves, like rampaging waters demanding release, against the floodgates that had been keeping them where they belonged for the seven months since she’d left him. Her eyes filled with tears and some of them leaked through. Pregnancy hormones, she told herself. Damn them.

She shifted sideways, breaking the eye contact and silencing those raging waters inside her—for the moment. There was a chest-high tombstone right beside her, and she moved to stand behind it. But all too soon the mourners were filing forward one by one, shaking Ryan’s hand, wishing him well. Some threw dirt. Some laid flowers on top of the shining wood of the casket.

Lena didn’t get into the line. She stayed where she was, feeling trapped. The shielding crowd of bodies around her had dissipated. If she stepped into the open, she would be fully exposed to Ryan’s eyes. So, like a coward, she stayed where she was and just waited.

And soon they were all gone. Even the priest. Bahru met her eyes and gave her a silent nod, and then he, too, went to a waiting car.

The only car left was clearly Ryan’s. A sporty little black thing that she had no idea how to identify. He ignored it, brushed the dirt from his hands and came closer. Lena leaned her folded hands on the tombstone, as if that would explain why she was still standing behind it, when she knew it wouldn’t. She just looked dumb. But soon enough he would understand why.

“I’m really glad you came.” Blinding sunlight streamed from the January sky. There was only a little snow in the cemetery, tufts and puffs clinging to the shadowy places. The rest of the ground was sticky with mud, more like spring than late winter.

“Of course I came. I loved him.”

A corner of his mouth pulled upward. “He loved you, too.”

He’d lost weight, she thought. There were harsher angles to his face now. As if he’d been sick, maybe, or just getting over the flu. And she noticed, too, that his whiskers were coming in. Ryan had a beard that just wanted to grow. Every morning he shaved, and every night he looked like he hadn’t bothered.

She’d loved that about him. By midnight those bristles were just the right length to give her chills when they rasped over her skin in bed.

Her heart skipped; her belly tightened.

“Are you coming to the mansion?”

He was getting closer, taking a few steps, then stopping as if he expected her to move toward him, looking more and more puzzled that she didn’t.

“For the reception?” she asked, knowing that wasn’t the right term but thinking there wasn’t one. Food, alcohol, stories about the deceased, traditional post-funeral activities...what did you call that? “I don’t think so.”

She didn’t want to put herself through the pretense, much less parade her belly around for the world to see and wonder about, maybe even ask about—at least the rude among them.

What she wanted to do was to rush into Ryan’s arms. At the same time she wanted to run away without giving him a glimpse of her belly or an answer to what had to be his countless unasked questions.

She didn’t do either. She just stood there.

“I don’t blame you. I don’t want to go, either.”

“Then don’t go. You need to take care of yourself first.” It was automatic, that answer.

Ryan smiled softly. “I’ve missed those affirmations of yours. Your positive-thinking tips of the day, I used to call them. You always seemed to have one for every occasion.”

“And you always thought they were cute but useless.”

“Or so I said at the time. Truth is, they stuck with me. I’ve even put a few of them into practice.”

“Oh yeah? And how’s it going so far?”

He shrugged. “I guess I ran out. I’ve been wondering what you’d say about today, about how I’m supposed to deal with things. I couldn’t come up with anything for this.”

She drew a deep breath. “Try to find something to focus on that feels just a little bit better. Try to do whatever will help you feel a little bit of relief. If you don’t want to go to the gathering at your father’s mansion, then don’t go.”

“That wouldn’t look very good.”

“Ryan, since when do you care how things look to other people? You drove your own car today instead of riding in a limo, for heaven’s sake.”

He lifted his gaze to hers. “That’s a good point. But what about my father?” He turned to look at the casket as he asked the question. “Wouldn’t he expect me to be there?”

“Right now, Ryan, your father understands everything. He’s at complete peace, at complete oneness. He’s achieved enlightenment and would no more put any expectations on you than he would...jump out of that box and dance a jig. He’s not there, Ryan. He’s in bliss. He’s with your mom. And they both understand everything you ever did, felt or thought, and it’s okay. It’s all okay.”

“That’s good. That actually helps a little.”

“I’m glad.”

“Anything else? Other bits of witchy wisdom for the infidel to try?”

“Yeah. When the things that have your attention are very bad, the be-all and end-all solution is to get distracted.”

He stared at her, even tried for a lecherous leer. “Are you...offering to distract me?”

“Yeah, just not in the way you think.” She drew a deep breath and stepped out from behind the headstone. She had unbuttoned her coat, so her belly was in plain sight.

“Son of a—”

“Or daughter. I didn’t let them tell me. But I’m pretty sure she’s a girl.”

He was dead silent, just staring at her belly. Then, all at once, his expression changed, and she knew he was asking himself the obvious question and doing the math in his head, counting how many months since she had left.

And then his head came up and he stared into her eyes. “Is it mine?”

“Yeah.”

He gaped, then clamped his mouth shut, looked up at the sky, clapped a hand to his forehead, turned in a complete circle and faced her again. “My God, Lena. My God, why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“Do you really need to ask me that?”

He frowned at her. “Uh, yeah. I really need to ask you that.”

She said, “Think about it, Ryan. Think about our last night together and then ask me why I didn’t tell you.” Suddenly she realized how pointless this discussion was, that they were never going to see their way across the chasm between them. She yanked out her cell phone and flipped it open.

“Who are you calling?”

“A taxi. It’s not like I can flag one down out here in the middle of nowhere, is it?”

“I’ll drive you back.” He lowered his eyes to her belly again, shaking his head in bewilderment. “It’ll give us time to talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Ryan. It is what it is, and trust me when I tell you, I don’t want, need or expect anything from you. I can do this alone.”

“Well, that’s fine, but I get some say in this, don’t I?”

“You had your say already.”

“Bullshit.”

Angry, and knowing she shouldn’t be—he had every right to be upset—she accepted defeat and walked toward the car, pulling her coat closed and doing up the buttons on the way. She was wearing flats, but the ground was wet. She was almost there when her foot slid on a patch of slick mud and she started going down, her arms flailing like some cartoon character.

He was behind her instantly and caught her before she fell, so she landed against his chest, with his arms around her above her beach ball and below her boobs. He stayed that way for a second, his palms turning to rest on top of her belly, and her helpful progeny chose that moment to kick
hard,
three rapid-fire, Jackie Chan-worthy thrusts directly where his hands were.

Automatically she looked up at his face for his reaction to what he’d just felt and then wished she hadn’t. Because his expression went from stunned to rapturous in the space of a heartbeat, and when he met her eyes again his were wide and delighted, like a little kid on Christmas morning.

She understood it. When she had first felt the baby kick, that was the moment when the whole thing took on a new level of...of
realness
. Up until then she’d thought of the baby more as a concept than a reality. But once it had kicked, it was real. That’s when it became a she—or he, she admitted, but probably she—wiggling around inside her body, just waiting to come out.

Ryan’s smile was the biggest, most genuine smile Lena had ever seen.

Okay, kid,
she thought,
good call. You made him smile on the day he buried his dad, so I guess it was worth it.

His smile died as he stared into her eyes, and his expression softened. “Are you okay?” he asked, straightening her up again but keeping one arm around her shoulders as they turned toward the car.

“Yeah, fine. I didn’t fall.”

“I mean—I mean, you know...overall? You’ve been pregnant for...”

“Almost eight months now. And yes, I’m fine, and the baby is, too. Healthy. Growing like a weed.”

“I’m glad.” He opened the passenger door and stood holding it while she got in, then went around to get behind the wheel while she fastened the seat belt in what had become her customary fashion, with the lap belt behind her, and the shoulder harness across her chest.